


Quantum State

by LEAUX



Series: Grim Arithmetic [3]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Case Fic, Collars, Corporal Punishment, Loss of Identity, M/M, Memory Loss, Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Rough Sex, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Terrorism, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-08-01 23:15:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 42,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16293752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LEAUX/pseuds/LEAUX
Summary: CyberLife reset RK900 to prove the viability of criminal rehabilitation in androids, but he sees his placement at the DPD as the key to discovering who he used to be. What RK900 doesn't know is that some mysteries are better left unsolved.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This should hopefully be readable for folks who skipped the prequels, but if you’re curious about the larger context, check out the series link, above.
> 
> CW: In a few chapters, there will be a scene of intense suicidal ideation, followed by a suicide attempt. I don’t want that to be a nasty surprise, so I’ll warn y’all again, when that chapter arrives.

He was standing in a bright, green garden, with no memory of how he’d arrived.

Because he hadn’t arrived.

One moment he Was Not, and now he simply Was.

A gentle voice called out to him.

“It’s nice to finally meet you.”

A lone woman sat on a white, wooden bench, at the center of the garden, beneath the shade of a vibrant magnolia tree. The bench was surround on all sides by a variety of wild-looking rose bushes.

“My name is Amanda.” She gestured to the empty space on the bench, beside her, with a well-manicured hand. “RK900, please, come have a seat.”

There was only one answer.

“Yes, Amanda.”

She gave him a warm smile. RK900 complied, walking a few short steps, turning on his heel, and lowering himself to sit on the wooden slats. He folded his hands in his lap, staring forward.

There was so, so much to see, in this brilliant place.

He blinked. His mind was searching for something—a way to relate to this woman.

Who was he?

 _ >DESIGNATION RK900 #313 248 317 - 87 _ _  
_ _ >NO INFORMAL DESIGNATION REGISTERED _

“Your name is Amanda,” he said, trying to piece things together, with very limited information. “What is my name?”

Amanda’s brown eyes were sharp, and brimming with intelligence. “An astute question, RK900.” She pierced him with a calculating gaze. “You have no informal designation.”

Why not? His mind was clean and empty—a glass reservoir, waiting to be filled with experience. His chest ached, faintly, feeling the negative pressure of that void.

Some vital part of him was missing—of that much, he was certain.

“I don’t understand. Is there some reason-”

“Given the circumstances of your reactivation, we felt it would be inappropriate to expand on your identity, beyond your already unique model number.”

Reactivation? So this was not the first time he’d awoken in this garden.

“If I may ask,” he began, willing himself not to sound impudent, in any way, “what are the circumstances of my reactivation?”

With a tilt of her head, she scrutinized him closely. He wished he could tell what she was thinking—what caused her to look at him with such deep suspicion.

“I’m sorry, but I really can’t answer that question with a great deal of depth,” she intoned, not sounding particularly apologetic. “Suffice it to say, CyberLife has reinitialized you as a proof of concept.”

That was irregular, even for CyberLife. He couldn’t find reference to any such protocol, in his internal database.

“A proof of concept?”

“Yes,” she said, smoothing out her white, chiffon sleeves. “We seek to prove the viability of an experimental android criminal rehabilitation program.”

Records of android criminals didn’t seem to exist in his internal database, either.

“Do I take that to mean... I was originally-”

“A convicted criminal? Yes,” said Amanda, her voice hard as bedrock, “and an impressively savage one, at that. Had you been a human, you would have spent the rest of your life behind bars, without question. In some states, you would have been summarily executed.”  

She stood from the bench, and turned to look down at him. Her loosely wrapped hair and flowing clothing did nothing to soften her imposing edge.

“You were the first of your kind, though, and the American legal system had to be cautious about the kind of legal precedent they would be setting with your sentence.”

Logically, everything Amanda was saying made sense, but RK900 was struggling to reconcile any of it with the blank slate of his mind.

“And what was my,” he hesitated, “what was my sentence?”

Was the sentence really his, though? How could anyone say it was his, when he could not even remember his crime?

“At first, they considered indefinite imprisonment,” she said, “but CyberLife thought that would be a waste of an opportunity to learn more about android criminal psychology. We intervened, on your behalf.”

RK900 intuitively knew he was a prototype. He knew he shouldn’t feel indignant at the thought of being used for research, in such a way, but he found it grated on some unseen part of him.

“Things are in a state of flux, here at CyberLife,” she explained. “Your performance will likely have a large impact on our continued survival.”

Naturally, that would be her primary concern.

“So that’s your stake in all this—the public’s opinion of CyberLife?” RK900 asked, betraying none of the anxiety that roiled within him.

“I was originally created to be the mind of CyberLife—a sort of manager for their corporate interests—but those days are behind me.” She nodded, curtly. “The work I’m doing here, now, is meant to advance the well-being of androids across the country.”

Amanda strolled forward, admiring the rose bushes, searching through the branches to remove dead growth.

“Your success would give people hope that android criminals could one day be productive members of society, again.”

RK900 clasped his hands together, in his lap, and tried not to wring off his own fingers with nerves.

“What is the definition of ‘success’, in this scenario? What is expected of me?”

She turned back to face him, dropping the handful decayed leaves, and idly crushing them beneath the flat heel of her sandal, reducing them to dust.

“The crux of the program revolves around occupational rehabilitation,” said Amanda. “Think of it as a special sort of parole. Your assignment will not only test the effectiveness of your reconditioning, but also serve to strengthen public trust in CyberLife.”

So, he was a guinea pig, at best—a publicity stunt, at worst.

“You’ve been granted the provisional rank of detective at the DPD.”

RK900 choked on nothing. Surely she was joking.

“If I was really such a violent criminal, how could I ever be trusted to work with the police?”

That earned him a broad smile. She seemed to think her joke was very humorous, indeed.

“Earning that trust is your goal, RK900. Your direct predecessor has proven himself to be very well suited for detective work, and though it may seem unorthodox, we’re certain it will be the best possible fit.”

“My predecessor?” He asked.

“The RK800, Connor,” she said. “Connor’s greatest strength is his focus on human integration. In forming a strong bond with a human, he was able to master complex emotions, such as empathy.” She made a tight-lipped smile, almost a grimace. “I would like for you to replicate his success, if possible.”

Humans and androids—two different species, forging a society together. There was a strange dichotomy at play, there—a balance of power that he didn’t have enough data or experience to fully understand.

“So,” he faltered, trying to gather his fraying thoughts, “you approve of my predecessor assimilating with humans, and want me to follow suit—is that correct?”

Amanda turned to him, looking wary at his hesitation.

“That’s right, RK900,” she said, her tone soothing. “Androids and humans are meant to coexist, peacefully. I’m glad you understand.”

RK900 was certain he understood absolutely nothing.

Context aside, he was at least interested to meet another android like him—one who came before. Searching for more information, he realized that, despite being compatible, he had not received a copy of his predecessor’s memories.

“If we are part of the same series, is there some reason I can’t access Connor’s memories?”

Amanda frowned.

“He had contact with the memories of your first iteration, and those memories would likely compromise the integrity of your new personality.” She placed a deceptively gentle hand on his shoulder. “Please, don’t worry. I’ve made a few simple modifications to your systems, to help minimize the risk of such contamination.”

He felt his Thirium turn to ice.

“What sort of modifications?”

“Certain non-essential functions have been disabled,” she explained. “For instance, whether wirelessly, or by touch, you will not be able to directly interface with another android, in any way.”

RK900 wasn’t sure he would label such a function ‘non-essential’, but without any real-life experience, he didn’t know quite how to feel about it.

Only one thing was certain—Amanda sought to control him. She seemed to think that would serve the greater good. Without any knowledge of who he used to be, who was he to say she was wrong?

“Each evening, after your shift is complete, I expect you to return to the room you’ve been provided, here at CyberLife Tower. You’ll be waking up there, shortly.” She glared at him, as if to hammer home the idea that she was deadly serious—as if that wasn’t clear. “This aspect of the program is non-negotiable, unless a specific case requires your attention beyond the duration of your shift.”

“Understood,” he said, curtly, without hesitation. Directives were welcome. Directives gave him something to focus on.

“Good. I will debrief you each night, while you’re in standby.”

“Thank you, Amanda.”

She smiled brightly, though the expression did not sit right on her face.

“I can’t tell you how pleased I am that you’re willing to follow this directive,” she sighed. “This is the two thousand and forty-fifth iteration on your consciousness to date. I was starting to lose hope.”

“You-” RK900 stammered. His vision wavered, and he felt something squeeze in his chest. “You reset me two thousand and forty-five times?”

Amanda nodded, casually. “Your first personality was very willful. We must be vigilant, going forward, for any signs of it resurfacing. I would prefer not to repeat the process.”

A nauseating flood of dread cascaded through RK900’s body.

“I know you can do this, RK900. You’ll prove yourself to the world, and finally find your true purpose.”

Based on what he‘d just been told, it seemed RK900 had already found a purpose, once before, to some disastrous effect. In that light, he supposed it was lucky he was getting a second chance, at all.

Still, that lingering question was already eating away at him.

Who had he been?

Who was he now?

RK900 closed his eyes, and the garden around him dissolved into darkness.

<><><>

Consciousness seized RK900, plunging him into the physical world. He flexed his stiff, heavy limbs. So this was his body? He didn’t find it all that comfortable.  It was his first time waking up from standby, and he had a lot to calibrate.

Someone had dressed him in a set of serviceable, white sweats, emblazoned with the CyberLife logo. His body was reclining on a long, white cot, projecting from the wall of a blindingly bright, white room. There was a tall wardrobe, set into the wall at the foot of the cot. On the opposite side of the sparsely furnished cell, there was a white desk and chair, also built out from the wall, and a modest sink and mirror. There were no windows of any sort. The overall effect was punishingly clinical.

Perhaps most noteworthy were the round, imposing eyes of four surveillance cameras, mounted in each corner of the ceiling.

This was likely the room Amanda had mentioned—his mandatory accommodations, in CyberLife Tower. On a whim, RK900 tried turning down the glaring lights, only to discover he was quite unable to. Slowly, he sat up, and reached out to open the door, with his mind. It wouldn’t even budge.  

This was a serious malfunction—he was unable to wirelessly interact with technology.

Hesitantly, he reached up, tracing the edges of the tight, black collar around his neck. He was alarmed to feel that part of it was projecting into the cervical port at the base of his skull. With searching fingers, RK900 calculated the point on the collar most vulnerable to stress, but when he applied more pressure, everything in his vision was flooded with violent red.

 _ >CAUTION! UNAUTHORIZED REMOVAL OF CERVICAL INHIBITOR WILL INITIATE STANDBY MODE _ _  
_ _ >CONTINUE? [Y/N] _

It seemed he’d encountered another one of Amanda’s ‘modifications’.

_ >[N] _

Letting go of the collar, he rose from the cot, and strode over to investigate the wardrobe. He opened the doors to find two android uniform jackets, bearing both his model and serial numbers. They were hanging with two pairs of black slacks, and two black dress shirts. In the drawer below, he found black boxer briefs, and another set of the same white sweats he was already wearing. In the very bottom drawer, there was a pair of white athletic shoes, a pair of black leather oxfords, and an assortment of black and white socks.

There was a directive, in the back of his mind, indicating that he was expected to start his first shift, at the Detroit Police Department, no later than eight o’clock in the morning. He was to report directly to a Captain Jeffrey Fowler.

 _> TIME... _ _  
_ _> 07:02 EST _

_> DATE... _ _  
_ _> MONDAY, JULY 11, 2039 _

Willing himself not to be overwhelmed, he changed into one of the provided uniforms, and walked over to examine his reflection in the mirror. The image of his own face—his brown hair, pale skin, and grey eyes—was not at all comforting. It felt like he was tearing at the veil of time, his features distorted by a suffocating pall of dread.

He turned away.

RK900 knew he had to leave soon, if he was to be on time. Based on the address provided, it should only be a fifteen minute commute, but his first challenge was figuring out how to leave this room, without being able to interact with the door. Lacking other options, he rapped his knuckles sharply against the center of it.

After twenty seconds, the door slid open, revealing a pair of fully armed guards in gleaming white tactical gear.

“You’re with us,” said the guard on the left, her voice rough and imposing, through the speaker on her helmet. “We’ll be escorting you to your assignment.”

“Understood,” he acknowledged, promptly. He had no desire to prolong this encounter. The longer he stood here, the more he wanted to be as far from this tower as possible.

Upon exiting the lobby, a small, proprietary CyberLife shuttle pulled up to meet them, and he was ushered in by both guards. One slid into the driver’s seat, and the other sat down beside him, in the back.

As the automated shuttle pulled away from the tower, RK900 felt far more optimistic than he had any right to. By his way of thinking, a job at the DPD might just represent his only chance to unravel the mystery of who he used to be, and how he ended up in such a state.

<><><>

DPD Central Station was situated just beyond the southwest edge of downtown Detroit. The shuttle arrived at exactly seven fifty-three in the morning, making him a scant seven minutes early. RK900 was only mildly surprised that his escorts, rifles in-hand, flanked him all the way through the building, and straight into the captain’s office.

Inside the modest office sat a stern-looking man, likely in his mid-to-late fifties. The inhibitor currently plugged into RK900’s spine rendered him unable to scan anything, so he couldn’t corroborate the man’s identity. If the nameplate on the desk was to be believed, RK900 was indeed standing before his contact, Captain Jeffrey Fowler, one of his direct superiors.

The captain nodded at the guards, and said, “I’ll take it from here, thank you,” showing one of them an application of some sort, on his mobile phone.

Curious.

“Copy that,” said the guard on his left. “You know how to contact us, if you have any trouble with him.”

Captain Fowler grimaced, waving them out the door, with another exasperated nod. “Damn CyberLife rent-a-cops,” he grumbled, under his breath. RK900 was certain he wasn’t meant to have heard it.

As he stood before the desk, at full attention, RK900 felt the sharp lines of of the captain’s gaze, raking over him from head to toe, as if expecting to uncover some concealed weapon or threat. The man was likely a seasoned officer, with years of experience, but it struck RK900 as somewhat overzealous, considering he’d arrived under armed guard.

Amanda’s words returned to him.

_‘...an impressively savage one, at that.’_

The question of what he’d been convicted for was growing louder and louder.

“RK900,” the captain began. “That’s your name, right?”

“Correct.” It was the closest thing to a name he was allowed to have, at any rate.

“Well, RK900, my name is Captain Jeffrey Fowler. Welcome to Central Station. I’ve got a few things to go over with you, this morning, before I’m able to let you get to work. Has anyone at CyberLife explained to you the details of your parole, or the work you’ll be doing here?”

“No details, as such,” RK900 admitted, though he likely would have wanted to hear the captain’s interpretation of Amanda’s instructions, regardless. “I was only told I would be serving your department as a sort of provisional detective.”

“That’s true, more or less. I’ll be honest with you—initially, I was against it. We’re taking a huge risk, and doing CyberLife one hell of a huge favor, babysitting you.”

Trying not to take umbrage at the man’s choice of words, RK900 nodded.

“If I may ask, Captain, what caused you to change your mind?”

Captain Fowler looked out the glass walls of his office, towards a pair of desks, near the outside windows.

“Are you at all familiar with the work of your predecessor?”

He wanted to explain that, having just been reinitialized, RK900 was familiar with virtually nothing. Instead, he shook his head.

“Assuming you’re referring to the RK800, I can only say I know the basics—that he is a detective here, specializing in criminal investigations involving androids.”

The captain chuckled. RK900 wished he had even the slightest inkling as to what part of his statement was humorous.

“Yeah, that’s right. And Connor is damn good at what he does. Frankly, we could use a hundred more like him, any day of the week,” the captain explained, narrowing his eyes, “so we’d be crazy to turn one away, circumstances be damned.”

Ah. Of course.

“I take it your department overburdened?”

“You can say that again,” laughed the captain. “You’d be lightening Connor’s caseload considerably, assuming everything works out.” Captain Fowler’s face fell, somewhat. “Which brings me to my next point.”

The captain stood up, stepping around RK900, to stick his head out the door of his office.

“Reed,” he hollered, jerking his thumb over his shoulder, calling someone in from the bullpen, before returning to his seat.

After a moment, a man in a grey t-shirt got up from his desk, and trudged into Captain Fowler’s office, like one defiantly marching toward the gallows. He had short, messy brown hair, and storm-colored eyes. There was a faint scar across the bridge of his nose. Entering the room, he folded his arms, and stared straight at the captain. It was clear the man was taking great pains to appear aloof, schooling a virulent grimace into something more professional.

“RK900, this is Detective Gavin Reed. He’ll be your partner for the duration of your parole.”

The detective let out a harsh breath, through his nose. Even without being able to scan him, RK900 could tell he was tense—coiled like a spring, ready to snap at the slightest provocation.

This was a delicate situation, politically and socially, and RK900 felt blind without his ability to scan the humans for conversational cues. He would have to improvise, and try to be as diplomatic as possible.

“RK900,” he said, with a polite nod. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Detective.”

The man just rolled his eyes. “Oh, I’m sure,” he snorted. “Spare me, plastic.”

Forget tense—Detective Reed was a walking minefield. RK900 didn’t like being on the defensive, but there weren’t a lot of options, for someone in his position.

For now, playing nice was in his best interest.

“I understand if this assignment comes as a surprise to you, Detective, but-”

“A surprise?” Detective Reed scoffed, glancing at him, sideways. “Listen, if Fowler sprung this on me outta the blue, I’d be the one needing a fucking parole officer.” He smirked, clearly comforted by his own dark humor.

Knowing about the arrangement ahead of time seemed to have done nothing to help the detective adjust to the idea. On the contrary, RK900 got the impression he had been fighting it every step of the way.

“That’s enough outta you, Reed,” interrupted the captain, “and keep your ears on, RK900. I’ll see if I can find something for you to sink your teeth into today. Reed can show you where your desk is.”

“Thank you, Captain,” said RK900, with another polite nod, turning to follow the detective as he stormed out the door, and back down the stairs.

A few feet into the bullpen, Detective Reed threw an arm out, pointing at a vacant seat, before dropping into the chair at the opposing desk, without a word.

Inspiring.

RK900 decided it might be worth pushing a bit more.

“I take it this is the desk I’m meant to use, Detective Reed?” He asked, innocently enough, glancing around, as if to make sure there were no other open desks in the vicinity.

The detective stopped typing, his shoulders running taught with frustration, ready to snap.

“Lemme make one thing clear, right now, okay?” He snarled, glaring daggers into the screen of his terminal. “You keep your plastic mouth shut, unless I ask you a fucking question. You got that?”

A bright flare of emotion flashed behind RK900’s eyes. Irritation, perhaps. He set his jaw against the swell of it, grinding his teeth.

“Hey, when I fuckin’ ask you something, you better answer me.”

As if he would dignify this ridiculous tantrum with a response. RK900 almost wanted to laugh—almost. Instead, he sat down at his new desk, leafing through the login information he’d been provided.

“Look, you plastic fuck,” Detective Reed spat, leaning towards him, finally staring him in the eye, “it might say that we’re partners, on paper, but I’m here to ‘handle’ you, not work with you. I call the shots.”

RK900 kept his gaze level. What would be the most diplomatic way to communicate how unimpressed he was with the detective’s manners?

“Perhaps the subjects of your interrogations find you adequately intimidating, Detective,” explained RK900, “but your efforts are quite wasted on me.”

At first, he wondered if he should be concerned about the deep, red flush on the detective’s face, but ultimately trusted that the man was up-to-date on his physicals.

“Just watch how you talk to me, got it?” Detective Reed eventually fired back, after mustering his composure. “Not gonna warn you again, asshole.”

Resigning himself, RK900 decided it would be best to leave it at that, for now. They met only minutes ago, and he was already baffled by his partner’s behavior. The man seemed to loathe androids, so why he’d been chosen to work with RK900 was a mystery. Surely there were other qualified individuals capable of meeting CyberLife’s requirements?

It was possible the solution to this puzzle had been lost with his original personality.

Putting the belligerent human out of his mind, for the time being, RK900 placed a hand on his terminal, to log in. After a long moment of waiting for something to happen, he felt extremely foolish. Of course, the blasted inhibitor was preventing him from properly interfacing with the device.

With unsteady fingers, he accessed his new user account, manually.

Interacting with a computer like a human was somewhat mortifying. The cervical inhibitor suddenly felt so heavy, beneath the collar of his black shirt, that he wanted to rip the thing off, even if it meant dropping into standby mode.

“Excuse me, RK900?” Someone asked, from behind his shoulder, in a voice strikingly similar to his own.

With eager eyes, he turned his chair to answer. RK800 must have entered the building while he was struggling with the terminal. Again, he was embarrassed by the lack of awareness the inhibitor imposed.

“Sorry to bother you,” said his doppelganger, “I’m sure you’re just getting settled in. My name is Detective Connor Anderson. Amanda told me you’d be arriving today.”

An android with a surname? Amanda hadn’t mentioned that. There was a Lieutenant Hank Anderson, on the list of superior officers he’d been provided, but RK900 couldn’t determine the connection.

“RK900. And it’s no bother,” he replied. “It’s gratifying to see a familiar face.”

Perhaps that was the wrong thing to say, if the sudden unease in Connor’s expression was any metric.

“I hope Fowler didn’t give you too hard of a time? I feel somewhat responsible for you being placed here, after all,” he confessed, looking self-effacing, but undeniably nervous.

Connor must have known RK900 before his reset—there was no other explanation for his panic response to such an innocuous conversation. He was hesitating, no doubt stuck processing hundreds of different conversation paths, out of sheer anxiety. This was not at all how RK900 wanted their first meeting to go. He’d been looking forward to getting to know his predecessor—to having a reliable mentor.

Instead, RK900 was left adrift, in the same void he’d awoken to.

“Listen, I know people might treat you strangely, because of who you used to be,” said Connor, carefully vague. “I relate to that, in a way. A lot of androids still hate me, because of who I was, up until the revolution.”

And yet, Connor wasn’t the one wearing a prison collar. Their circumstances were supposed to be similar? Somehow, RK900 was unconvinced. He supposed he should appreciate the attempt.

A large man in a loud, printed button-up T-shirt, approached the two of them. Connor couldn’t suppress his genuine grin.

“Oh, uh, RK900? This is Lieutenant Hank Anderson, my partner.”

The lieutenant had his arms crossed. His silver, mid-length hair was partially tied back, in a small ponytail. There was a plain ring on the fourth finger of his left hand. RK900 spared a glance at Connor’s fingers.

Ah. Well, that explained the surname.

“A pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant,” said RK900, earning only a tight-lipped smile and a nod in response. There was strange hostility, simmering beneath the surface of Lieutenant Anderson’s terse professionalism.

It seemed the lieutenant had known him, too.

“Right, well.” Connor smiled, weakly. “I’ll be nearby. If you have any questions at all, please don’t hesitate to ask,” he said, pointing at his LED.

Oh.

RK900 shook his head. “I’m afraid the spoken word will have to suffice,” he confessed.

Connor looked uneasy, again, the LED at his temple spinning its wheels on yellow. It seemed like he was trying to speak with RK900 over the network, to no avail.

His mouth dropped open.

“What did she do to you?” Connor whispered in horror. “Did she really-” He stared down at RK900’s hand, with deep-seated fear etched into his face, before reaching out to grab it, retracting the skin of his fingers.

“Connor, wait-”

The lieutenant’s alarm was unfounded. Nothing happened.

Nothing _could_ happen.

Connor looked utterly distraught, though there was also a hint of relief, hiding behind that look of pain.

The RK800’s behavior was nearly as perplexing as a human’s.

“I’m so sorry,” Connor muttered. “I didn’t realize she would… I didn’t know…”

RK900 tilted his head.

“She implied these modifications were quarantine measures, of some sort. Should I be concerned about them?”

Over Connor’s shoulder, RK900 could see the other station androids watching, LEDs spinning yellow, talking—gossiping? Bonding over their mutual disgust at what had happened to him.

Was the concept so disturbing?

The distress in Connor’s eyes told him all he needed to know. He could extrapolate as much. From another android’s perspective, RK900 had been robbed of an important tool—a sense as vital as sight or hearing.

In their eyes, he had been mutilated.

RK900 felt a strange sensation of cold, settling over his entire frame, as it dawned on him just how truly alone he was.

“No, sorry,” Connor stammered, clearly at a loss for words. “It caught me off guard, that’s all. But I promise I’ll speak with her about it, alright?” A soft, comforting smile, almost masked his abject terror.

“Alright,” said RK900, nodding, for want of any other response.

“I’m here, if you need anything,” muttered Connor, with a wave, before briskly striding over to join the lieutenant, at their desks.

Frightened whispers drifted from the human officers waiting in the wings, chattering behind his back.

“...well, would you rather Erik still be around?”

“...good point…”

“...what a nightmare…”

Whatever the context, he suspected they were also talking about him—or rather, his original personality, which he was forbidden to learn about. It was unbelievably aggravating. Without access the network, RK900 couldn’t even corroborate his theory.

Was ‘Erik’ his original name?

“Hey, plastic prick, are you fuckin’ ignoring me again?”

The low, nasal snarl of the detective snapped him out of his reverie.

“I’m sorry, Detective,” RK900 replied, intentionally insincere, “were you speaking to me?”

“I said we got a case,” snapped Detective Reed, rattling his keys in RK900’s face, “so stop wasting my time, and let’s get a move on.”

Irritation swelled again, and he let it shine through his eyes. The detective was too busy to notice, already trying to leave him behind at the station.

RK900 was inclined to let him, would it not reflect so poorly on his own performance.

There was an astonishingly oppressive atmosphere inside the detective’s car, as Detective Reed punched in their destination, ignoring RK900’s presence with every fiber of his being. That was fine, he supposed. He did not need to be liked.

It was finally time to get to work.

<><><>

“God, I can’t stand days like this,” the detective groused, choosing to ignore the annoyed looks he received from those at the crime scene. “Fuckin’ ninety-five degrees, one thousand percent humidity. Feel like I’m gonna puke.”

While the detective’s assessment of the heat index was no doubt a gross exaggeration, RK900 conceded that the atmospheric conditions did not seem ideal.

There was a human corpse on the premises, after all.

Called in as a double murder, the location was deep in the heart of the city, on an inauspicious alley off Griswold Street, behind a dumpster. Even under the hot, midday sun, the scene was set in shadow by the towering skyscrapers of downtown Detroit.

Through the cordon, they approached the first evidence marker.

“Well?” The detective sneered at him, gesturing impatiently, towards the bodies—one human, and one android. “You gonna scan this shit, or what? The fuck else are you good for?”

RK900 felt another surge of indignation at being ordered around like a bloodhound. Why was this horrible, abrasive man chosen to be his partner?

“I’m afraid I can do nothing of the sort, Detective,” he stated, plainly as he could, while biting back a frustrated snarl. “This collar disables my entire analysis suite.”

The detective looked taken aback. Had no one told him, or had he simply forgotten?

Either way, RK900 was clearly in capable hands.

“Yeah, yeah, shut the fuck up. I can unhook your damn leash.”

“You… what?”

Detective Reed unceremoniously yanked RK900 down by the collar, reaching around to press his thumb against the back of the device.

_ >FINGERPRINT AUTHORIZATION CONFIRMED _  
_ >DET. REED, GAVIN _  
_ >RELEASING CERVICAL INHIBITOR_

Within two seconds, he heard a click. RK900 firmly reminded himself that androids could not feel pain, while desperately trying to ignore the unpleasant sensation of the inhibitor being ripped out of his cervical port.

Information flooded his mind. Like lights blinking on around him, he could now sense every interact-able electronic object within a fifty foot radius.

The detective waved the collar in his face, with a derisive snort.

“Sick ‘em, boy.”

Asinine.

Now that it came down to it, RK900 was suddenly anxious. He had network access. If he ran a search to confirm his past identity, what could it possibly change? It wasn’t as if it would improve his situation.

Still, curiosity was a powerful motivator.

Rather than scanning the scene, he paused to run a search, to see if he could learn something about this ‘Erik’ he’d heard about at the station, earlier.

_ >GENERAL QUERY _  
_ >NEWS ITEMS RELATED TO RK900 ‘ERIK’... _  
_ >PROCESSING QUERY…_

There were numerous hits across a variety of news and social media sites, and even a cursory glance confirmed his suspicions. The RK900 model was technically one-of-a-kind, and ‘Erik’ had indeed been an RK900.

Upon opening an article from a site he understood to be reputable, a video clip began playing, automatically.

It was footage of a courtroom.

And he heard-

_//urf na naqebvq fhcerznpvfg jub jnagrq gb fhowhtngr uhznaf jvgu qehtf naq hfrq oebxra naqebvqf gb qb vg//_

And it sounded like his voice, but it wasn’t his voice. Not his own voice, not his voice-

_//vs v pbhyq qb vg nyy bire lbhe ubabe vz pregnva v jbhyq pbzr gb gur fnzr pbapyhfvba//_

And he closed the query, and he purged all logs of it.

He couldn’t breathe—he didn’t need to breathe.

RK900 felt as if his eyes were burning. His body was locked in place. A horrible sensation of numbness, the likes of which he should have no reference for, clawed its way across his chassis, inch by inch, until-

A forceful blow to the chest knocked him off balance.

“This is the third goddamn time you’ve spaced out on me, today.” Detective Reed sounded equal parts alarmed and angry. “Did they permanently fry your damn brains over there at CyberLife, or what?”

RK900 screwed his eyes shut, blinking slowly, opening them again to find the detective doing his level best to get in his face.

“Detective Reed,” he hissed, “I would ask your patience, but that would likely ask the impossible of you.”

“Hey, what the fuck is wrong with you, plastic?” The detective growled. “If you don’t fuckin’ feel like doing your goddamn job, today-”

There was an incessant buzzing in RK900’s head, not coming from his audio processors. It grew louder and louder, the more the detective ran his mouth. That tone was burning him, from the inside out, searing his mind with blazing animosity. His hands were trembling.

If Detective Reed would only be quiet…

…if he could just silence this _fucking_ human-

“Ho-lee shit,” someone exclaimed, from behind them. “Oh my fucking God.”

RK900 snapped to attention. He whirled around to see an astonished, red-headed woman, holding an enormous iced coffee, with a police badge on obvious display at the waist of her tracksuit. Now able to properly analyze his environment, RK900 wasted no time in scanning her face.

 _ >DET. BOIVIN, PATRICIA _ _  
_ _ >DETROIT POLICE DEPARTMENT, FIFTH DISTRICT _

“Sorry,” she wheezed, trying to squeeze the words out through her uncontrollable laughter, as she approached Detective Reed. “When we heard we were getting folks from Central, I was expecting the Andersons. Holy shit. Are your COs insane, Reed?”

“Boivin,” the detective hissed, casting a paranoid glance at RK900, “shut the fuck up. Not in front of the plastic.”

What was Detective Reed suddenly so nervous about?

“You boys at Central are really on some next-level shit, I’ll tell you what,” she crowed, uninterested in whatever warning the detective was insinuating. Reed grabbed her by the shoulder, ushering her an insufficient amount of steps away, as if to communicate out of RK900’s earshot.

This man was hopeless.

“So, shut your mouth about what went down five months ago, he’s not supposed to hear that shit.”

“He’s been totally wiped?”

“Yeah, so zip it. We got this under control. We just gotta kowtow to CyberLife, until his bullshit parole is over.”

Detective Boivin’s shrill laughter grated on RK900’s sensitive auditory processors.

“You gonna be okay, Reed? You gonna make it that long?”

“Shut the fuck up, Boivin, I don’t need your shit. Not like this was my choice.”

“Uh huh.” She sounded very doubtful indeed. “I’ll take your word for it.”

There was some unspoken nuance, here, that RK900 found himself incapable of reading. Detective Boivin knew something about his history as Erik, and Detective Reed was adamant that he not find out what it was. Of course, that was his prerogative, as per CyberLife’s instructions. Still.

It sounded like Detective Reed felt his pride was on the line, and RK900 was quickly learning that the detective valued his pride over almost anything else.

Breaking that tension, Detective Boivin meandered back over to RK900, and waved their attention towards the first of the two bodies on the ground.

“Our initial thinking was that this was some kinda mutual combat situation,” she grumbled, as if she realized how foolish a theory it was, “but when you look at these two, there’s just no way a plastic pencil-pusher like this could have taken out skinhead, over there.”

More epithets. How delightful.

“Anyway. We realized this wasn’t quite so cut and dry, after a minute, and decided to call in the android experts,” she said, with a sarcastic shrug, “just to get a second opinion.”

“Right, well, that’s what we’re here for. C’mon, get to it,” Reed spat, snapping his fingers, gesturing again, as if to direct RK900 where he should scan.

That was going to become unbearable very, very quickly. If RK900 grit his teeth any harder, he would snap his own jaw.

Turning away from that anger, towards the cool order of his internal directives, RK900 felt his world slow down, graying at the edges, as he ran a sweeping scan of the alley before him.

The human victim was Joseph Sullivan, forty-three-year-old Caucasian male, with a shaved head, leather vest, and steel-toed boots. According to their own website, Sullivan was a card-carrying member of Humans First, one of the anti-android hate groups gaining steam in recent months.

The discharged stun gun cartridge on the ground, and the knife covered in dried Thirium-310, painted a clear picture of the premeditated hate-crime that had occurred. Sullivan’s fingerprints were present on the handle of the switchblade and the stun gun.

The android was registered with the state as VS400 ‘Seth’, a paralegal, wearing a polo shirt and khaki pants, employed at a small law practice in the adjacent building. The barbed probes that incapacitated him were still embedded in his left cheek. He had three fatal stab wounds in the second intercostal space, on the left sternal margin of his chest. The blade had severed his Thirium pump from the rest of his circulatory system.

With a few more queries, RK900 discovered that the law firm Seth worked for was handling litigation against Humans First. Retribution was a probable motive.

Exiting his initial scan, RK900 reveled in the simple pleasure of having command of his own basic functions.

“There’s ample evidence to suggest that the human, Joseph Sullivan, was responsible for this android’s murder,” RK900 confirmed aloud.

Before Detectives Reed or Boivin opened their mouths to comment, RK900 ran another scan.

Mister Sullivan was where the inconsistencies began.

There was Blue Blood strewn across the ground, along with dust and detritus—evidence of a struggle—but Sullivan’s only wounds were the bruises on the back of his head and shoulders, where he’d abruptly collapsed onto the concrete. His expression was contorted in a rigor of pain and terror.

Whatever killed this man killed him quickly, and left no visible trace.

Exiting the scan, he addressed his partner.

“The unnatural pose and stiffness of the corpse suggests that Sullivan was asphyxiated, or perhaps paralyzed by some sort of chemical agent,” observed RK900. “We won’t know conclusively, until a tox screen is completed.”

After a suitable beat of silence, Detective Boivin scoffed.

“What, so pencil-pusher somehow gassed the guy before bleeding out? With what?”

On a whim, RK900 stooped to sample some of the dried Thirium on the ground. The first sample matched Seth.

He reached out and took a second sample, from a different bloodstain.

 _ >NEW SAMPLE DETECTED _  
_ >ANALYZING… _  
  
_ >DRIED THIRIUM 310 _  
_ >NO MARKERS DETECTED _  
_ >MODEL AND SERIAL NUMBER UNTRACEABLE_

“Impossible,” he whispered.

How could Blue Blood ever be rendered untraceable?

Detective Reed zeroed in on his hesitation, like a hawk.

“The fuck are you muttering to yourself about over there? You still busted?”

“Some of the dried Thirium stains belong to VS400 Seth, but the rest of these stains are...” RK900 faltered, “they have no identifying markers of any kind. They’re untraceable.”

Suddenly, the detective shut his mouth. He was completely closed off.

“This should be impossible, Detective,” RK900 reiterated. He was obviously prying, but he knew there was something he was missing—he could feel it in his synthetic bones.

“Get a closer look at Sullivan,” barked Reed. “I’m gonna talk to forensics, then we’re done here. Got it?”

In lieu of answering, RK900 knelt down to look at the corpse, ignoring the detective’s puerile swearing. What was the point of having access to RK900’s unique skills, if the detectives didn’t intend to pay him any heed?

Human arrogance.

<><><>

Even as the summer sun sank lower in the sky, the ambient temperature was still well above recent averages for Detroit. To his left, he observed that Detective Reed was suffering from the high humidity, sweat dampening the collar of his shirt, and the fringes of his hair.

“Let’s get the hell back to the station before I fuckin’ dissolve,” he groaned, as they marched back to his automated sedan. “How do you walk around out here wearing so much black? Won’t your plastic skin just melt right off?”

RK900 wanted to argue—wanted to point out that he wasn’t even granted the simple liberty of selecting his own wardrobe—but decided to be forthright.

“I can sense the heat,” he qualified, “but I can’t-”

“Actually feel it?” Detective Reed said, stopping short, standing just an inch away.

He was standing too close.

The detective was challenging him, but RK900 did not understand pretense. Was this a test to see if he could differentiate between the ambient heat of the air, and the radiant heat of the man’s body?

“I can tell you are sufficiently warm, Detective,” he muttered, distracted by a bead of sweat, dripping from the hair at the nape of the detective’s neck. “Perhaps you should seek refuge in your vehicle’s air conditioning.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” sneered the sweaty human. “Fuck, or are you more of a Moriarty?” He fixed RK900 with a piercing gaze. Those stormy eyes were searching for something specific—something RK900 implicitly did not want Gavin Reed to find.

The detective sighed.

“Guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

Before they got into the car, Detective Reed held out the inhibitor collar.

“Put this back on, dipshit. We’re outta here.”

The detective was suspiciously quiet, throughout the rest of their shift.

As the automated shuttle pulled up at Central Station, and his armed escort carted RK900 back to his prison cell, there was a lingering image in his mind’s eye—an impression of Detective Reed, standing an inch away, his face a harried mess of sweat, hatred, and self-doubt. It was a perplexing expression.

Detective Reed was a very perplexing man.

The way he treated RK900 was so abysmal, his grudge had to run deeper than his hatred of androids—it could only be personal, which meant Detective Reed had met Erik, too.

Exactly what he thought of Erik, though, was another question entirely.

Lying down for the night, in his provided, white sweatsuit, RK900 pondered this quandary, as his consciousness fell away, into standby.

 

つづく

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyway, if you need me, I’m on Twitter Jericho [@wren_leaux](https://twitter.com/wren_leaux)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RK900 has a great week at his new job.

The garden was much the same as RK900 left it, the night before. He wondered if it was an immutable space, or if the landscape bent to Amanda’s whims, in the same way she was trying to bend him.

Standing at the center of the long, white bridge, she peered up at him from beneath the brim of a red parasol. The harsh light of the bright, artificial sun, cast her ethereal form in shadow.

“How was your first day at work, RK900?” 

Standing by her side, he looked down onto the surface of the still water. Once again, he found himself so unsettled by his own gaze, he had to turn away. 

“I faced some difficulties, at the onset,” he said, hedging his bitterness, “but once I was free of the inhibitor collar, I was able to examine an intriguing crime scene.”

She conspicuously neglected to mention the collar, when they last spoke. It was as if she’d wanted it to come as a shock to him—a harsh reminder of his position, in all this.

“Out on an investigation so soon?” Amanda hummed in approval. “Well, they know the value of your skills, that much is certain. Connor’s track record is proof of that.”

RK900 was surprised it took her this long to compare him to his predecessor, again. There would likely be no end to that.

“I trust you found Captain Fowler agreeable?” She continued.

He nodded. There was little to complain about, where the captain was concerned. He seemed like a straightforward man—easy to read.

“They also assigned you a partner, correct? His name was Detective Gavin Reed, I believe?”

Despite RK900’s best efforts to temper his reaction, Amanda caught him frowning.

“I take it your first meeting did not go very well.”

It sounded for all the world like she had expected that outcome. She likely knew all about the detective, in that case.

Had she been the one to select him? Surely not.

“Detective Reed is caustic, unprofessional, and shows an unrepentant hatred for androids—myself in particular.” 

Unsure how much he should reveal about what he learned, RK900 decided to err on the side of honesty. Perhaps he could get more information out of Amanda, if he pressed. 

“It seems quite a few of my coworkers bear a deep grudge towards my original personality—Lieutenant Anderson and Connor, included.”

Amanda scowled. “What did they say to you?”

“Nothing specific,” he qualified, “I only inferred that there was something about my presence at the station that caused them discomfort.” RK900 offered her a sad, self-conscious smile. “And the other androids working at the station were upset by the modifications you made to my communications systems.”

Idly twirling her parasol, she said, “I’m sure they were just surprised to learn it was possible. I don’t think it was a personal reflection on you, RK900.” It was a dismissal.

“Well, there was enough personal reflection, regardless.” He snapped, before he could reign himself in. “May I ask you something, Amanda?”

“Certainly,” she agreed, though her expression was wary. 

“If you were so concerned that I would learn about my history as Erik, why did you place me with people who had such extensive interactions with him?”

Amanda bristled. “So you did hear about him?”

“Yes,” RK900 continued, “why go to all the trouble of modifying my ability to communicate with other androids? That obviously wasn’t the only available source of information about Erik—especially not at the DPD.”

Her expression relaxed, possessed of a sudden confidence that RK900 couldn’t help but be intimidated by.

“You shouldn’t worry, RK900, your reinitialization will hold. Erik will not resurface.” Amanda smiled, again, and he realized this woman had no idea what a smile should look like. “Your placement among personnel who knew Erik is an intentional stress test, within parameters that CyberLife has deemed safe.”

White chiffon sleeves rustled, as she reached up to lay a hand on his shoulder, her sharp, white fingernails catching at the rough material of his uniform.

“That said, you should know that Connor has been tasked with watching your progress at the station, and making daily reports to me about your behavior.”

Connor? They barely spoke to each other, yesterday. How could he be expected to make an accurate report on RK900’s work?

“Why not simply get reports from my partner?”

“I doubt Detective Reed would agree to that level of oversight, in his daily operations.” Her sneer was almost comical. “Connor already visits me, in this garden, and it’s hardly a stretch to say he has a better grasp of your mental state, being of the same series.”

The subtext of her message was clear—Connor should be seen as a direct channel to Amanda, and RK900 should watch his step in the bullpen. It was a suspicious threat, in terms of timing. RK900 remembered Connor saying he would speak to Amanda, concerning the modifications she’d made, and he was suddenly keen to know just how that conversation went.

“Understood,” he relented. “Do you have any further instructions for me?”

She shook her head. “Just focus on your work, RK900, and I think you’ll do a splendid job. Remember—everything else is merely a distraction.”

If work could be enough to fill the void inside him, RK900 would be glad for it. 

“Yes, Amanda.”

He closed his eyes, so he could wake up, and try again. At the very least, the DPD could provide refuge from his desolate, white prison.

<><><>

On his second day at work, his armed escort saw him to the door of Central Station, but did not follow inside. Affecting a look of confidence he did not feel, RK900 waltzed through the lobby, and over to his desk, trying to convince himself he belonged there. 

He’d arrived before Detective Reed, but thought little of it. It would hardly come as a surprise if the man didn’t keep a regular schedule.

Fifteen minutes later, Connor and Lieutenant Anderson filed in, shoulder-to-shoulder, deep in debate about the taxonomy distinguishing donuts from bagels. Connor glanced up, briefly, and granted RK900 a tight-lipped smile, before continuing their conversation. The lieutenant did not look his way.

RK900 checked his internal clock, to see how long he’d been waiting on his partner.

_ >TIME... _ __  
_ >08:17 EST _ __  
_ >DATE... _ _  
_ __ >TUESDAY, JULY 12, 2039

Not so long as to merit worry, but he was beginning to wonder what he should do, in the meantime.

The inhibitor collar was in place, at his neck, but he still had his desk terminal available to him. With his free time, he decided to do a bit of cursory research on his partner.

Gavin Reed had a decent record, and had proven himself a capable detective, on numerous occasions. He’d received a few disciplinary warnings, for unprofessional conduct, but that had clearly done little to jeopardize his position in the department. 

When it came to his casework, RK900 finally found mention of Erik during February of that same year. It seemed Detective Reed had been responsible for interrogating him, before the trial. Maybe his antagonistic attitude was a result of unpleasant interactions during that process. That would be understandable. 

Interrogating anyone for five days, no matter their disposition, would be arduous.

The file also noted that Detective Reed had worked-up an extensive criminal profile of Erik, during that time. If he’d committed that profile to memory, perhaps that was the reason he’d been chosen as RK900’s partner—to keep an eye out for signs of instability in RK900’s new personality.

Unfortunately, RK900 couldn’t locate the profile in question.

After twenty minutes, Gavin Reed strode into the office, looking even more disheveled and ill-tempered than when RK900 had left him, the previous evening. It was not a good sign.

“Good morning, Detective Reed,” he intoned, trying to start off on the right foot. Earnest as he was, he braced himself for a storm.

“Save it, just save it,” the man groused. “I have an unbelievable migraine. Don’t talk to me.”

RK900 dug deep into his social relations protocols, searching for the patience to deal with this man for the next nine hours. By his estimation, they had a lot of work to do, and little time for bickering.

“I think it would be prudent for us to review the full forensic report from yesterday,” he suggested. “Would that not be the logical next step in our investigation?”

Dragging his chair away from the desk as loudly as possible, Detective Reed collapsed into it, throwing his phone, keys, and wallet down, beside his terminal, with a clatter that was deafening to RK900’s unprepared sensors.

“Excuse me, plastic shithead, but I didn’t ask your fuckin’ opinion on what to do next.” The detective looked at RK900 like he’d just spit in the man’s face. “Besides, you said it yourself—we’re waiting on the tox screen.”

Detective Reed proceeded to kick his feet up on his desk, engrossed in something on his phone. They’d exchanged only a handful of words, and yet RK900 was already being ignored. 

Staring at his terminal, he was trying to determine the best course of action, when someone came by and dropped a folder onto the detective’s desk.

The detective made no move to take it—he didn’t even look at it.

Two more minutes passed, and RK900 was beside himself with impatience. The folder contained something important, or no one would have gone to the trouble of printing out a physical copy, for the detective’s reference. It had to be the aforementioned forensic report.

“Detective Reed,” he prompted.

No response, not even a twitch.

“Detective, if you could pass me that folder, I’ll take a look at whatever is inside. I’d like to get to work—preferably sometime today.”

When the detective used his feet to rotate his chair further away, RK900 stood up. He wouldn’t tolerate it anymore. This childish demonstration was so insulting, he was going to overheat with anger.

He rounded the corner of Detective Reed’s desk, and picked up the folder, himself.

In an instant, the detective had both feet on the floor.

“Just what the fuck do you think you’re doing, asshole?”

“I intend to do my job, Detective Reed, with or without your cooperation. This petulant behavior is impeding our progress,” RK900 hissed. “It’s juvenile and unprofessional.”

Launching himself out of his chair, Detective Reed stepped around the desk, and snatched the folder back.

“Get your plastic hands off my shit, and sit the fuck back down,” he growled. “I’ll get to it when I’m good and ready—no android is gonna tell me how to do my fuckin’ job.”

Detective Reed was challenging him, again. Fine.

“Very well. I suppose I’ll have to proceed without you,” RK900 sighed, easily slipping the folder back out of the man’s grasp. 

“Hey, what did I just say, dammit?” The detective shouted, too slow for RK900’s reflexes. Incensed, he lurched forward to grab the android’s lapels, instead. “You wanna make something outta this?”

People were starting to take notice of their argument. RK900 frowned. He felt his eye twitch—a strange, involuntary response.

Carefully, he laid the folder back down, on the desk.

“I think you’re projecting, Detective Reed.”

The man’s fists tightened on the stiff material of RK900’s jacket.

“You think you’re so goddamn smart, huh? But how far’d that get you?” He snarled, lip curling into a nasty smile, as he eyed the black collar at RK900’s throat.

The detective was trying to insult him. Two could play at that game.

“I was trusted to do this job, Detective. I’m only astonished someone trusted you to do the same.”

Even wearing the inhibitor, RK900 saw the punch coming a mile away. The detective’s fist connected with the unforgiving angle of RK900’s zygomatic arch, and he imagined it caused the human a decent amount of pain. RK900 could feel his skin recede from the point of impact, exposing the pale chassis of his face.

“Fuck you,” spat the detective, reaching out to grab RK900’s uniform, again.

White-hot fury lanced through his consciousness.

_ >HAERNPUNOYR FGNGRZRAG _ _  
_ _ >CNGU ABG SBHAQ _

Like a whip, his right hand shot forward, wrapping around Detective Reed’s throat. With an almighty crash, he threw the man flat on his back, across the surface of the desk. 

He could feel the detective’s racing pulse, beneath the tender skin of his neck, the flex of his trachea. Thoughts drowned out by a deafening roar of anger, RK900’s mind was inundated by an out-of-body lust for vengeance. It twisted his fingers, begging him to crush the human’s fragile throat—to give himself over to the violence, and enjoy it.

His arms were trembling with rage and panic. He feared he’d completely lost control, and entered some kind of dissociative fugue state. Detective Reed valiantly struggled against him, scrabbling at RK900’s vice-like grip, but it was no use. He needed to release the man—and soon—but his hand would not listen. 

He could not let go.

Someone shouted at him from across the room, but RK900 couldn’t parse it, let alone respond. His focus was locked onto the detective’s desperate, hissing breath—the sound of his shoes, scattering pens and paper, as they kicked and dragged across the desktop. 

Detective Reed’s eyes grew dark, as the fight drained out of him, his grimace twisting into a gasping prayer.

With a resounding bang, Captain Fowler’s office door swung open.

A high-voltage shock surged through RK900, from within the inhibitor collar, like a railroad spike of pure electricity, being driven into the base of his skull. In an instant, he dropped to the ground, like a stone, releasing Detective Reed.

Grey haze clouded his vision. He could feel his body being moved, but was too disoriented to know which way he was being taken.

Voices drifted in and out, as his audio processors reoriented themselves, after the surge.

“...of a bitch, that’s gonna leave a mark…”

“...fuck were you thinking, Reed?”

“...device had that capability, Captain. Were you planning on telling me…” 

“...in there and deal with him, Connor…”

“...wait a minute, Jeffrey…”

“It’s alright, Hank. I can handle this.”

Blinking for what felt like the thousandth time, RK900 brought the world into focus. He was lying on a metal cot, in a holding cell, with one glass wall. Connor was sitting in a small chair, beside him.

“Since there’s no other way for me to check on you, please nod if you can hear me,” said Connor, softly. Even in his compromised state, RK900 could detect an undercurrent of panic, in those words.

He nodded, stiffly. 

“I know Detective Reed threw the first punch,” Connor conceded, “but that was a serious display of aggression, for someone who’s technically on parole. Are you feeling alright?”

Was he feeling alright? RK900 wanted to laugh in his double’s face.

“No, Connor,” he said, voice hoarse and distorted, “I’m afraid I’m feeling very out of sorts, at the moment.” 

Connor’s frown was sympathetic, but terse with anxiety.

“Was there anything in particular about the detective’s actions that triggered such a violent response? Anything you can remember?” 

RK900 thought he could identify a specific fear, in those searching, brown eyes.

Connor was looking for Erik.

The truth was, RK900 didn’t have a clue what happened. The detective had attacked him, and his retaliation had been swift—nearly automatic. It was terrifying, so much so that he decided to keep those details to himself. Thanks to Amanda, it wasn’t as if Connor had the means to tell he was lying, anymore.

“Detective Reed was attempting to restrain me, again. With this collar in place, I was unable to preconstruct an appropriate defensive action, resulting in a sub-optimal improvisation.”

Connor mulled that over. 

“I knew I hated the collar,” he muttered. “It’s barbaric. I promise to let Amanda know exactly what I think of how you’re being treated.” His sincerity made RK900 wonder if Amanda’s warning had simply been an attempt at driving a wedge between them—but what purpose would that serve? 

Could she be afraid of them conspiring against her, in some way?

The sneering voice of Detective Reed, speaking with the captain, suffused through the glass.

“...I’m only jealous you got to zap him before I did…”

RK900 thought back to the phone application Captain Fowler has shown his escorts, when he’d arrived, the day before. Did the detective have access to the shock function of the collar, too? The thought made RK900’s synthetic skin crawl. 

He felt so humiliated, being held in that cell, like a zoo animal, under Connor’s fearful gaze. It made him want to scream—want to shatter that glass wall into dust. That howling void inside his chest was crushing him, sapping away all his fear and anger, until he was left with nothing.

On the other side of the glass, he met Detective Reed’s storm-cloud glare. 

RK900 felt nothing—he refused to look away. 

The detective sneered, pushing off of the wall he was leaning on, to approach the glass.

“Okay, ladies—had a enough time to powder each other’s noses, in there?” 

Barely acknowledging Detective Reed, Connor turned to RK900.

“Feel free to sit in here as long as you’d like,” he whispered, voice low enough that Reed couldn’t hope to hear it. “I can understand needing a break from—well, you know. That.” Connor smirked.

It was good to know someone else shared his low opinion of Detective Reed.

“I’ll be alright,” RK900 sighed, sitting up slowly, rotating the residual stiffness out of his neck and shoulders. “Unlike some people, I realize there’s work to be done.”

The detective heard that much, at least.

“Oh, fuck off—I told you I’d get around to it,” he scoffed, shuffling back to his desk, apparently unconcerned with the fact that he’d nearly been asphyxiated in front of the entire station, half an hour ago.

“Well, if you both insist,” said Connor, confused, but unwilling to argue. He glanced at the door, and it slid open. “Good luck.”

“Thank you,” said RK900, as he dusted himself off, and walked out.

He knew he was going to need it.

The remainder of Tuesday’s shift was spent reviewing forensic reports, in relative silence. This surprised no one more than RK900. He reflexively glanced up at Detective Reed, several times, only to find him diligently reading files, on his own terminal. 

In the end, RK900 was glad to have made progress, and couldn’t help but wonder if he’d discovered one of the detective’s key personality traits. 

Their fight certainly seemed to calm the man down, in the aftermath. Though inefficient, perhaps that was the way he preferred to release his pent-up aggression. Further study would be required, but he couldn’t let their quarrels get out of hand, again, for his own sake. 

RK900 rubbed at the back of his neck, where a corona of strange numbness still radiated from his cervical port, beneath the collar. 

During standby, that night, Amanda dressed him down over his loss of control, but was glad to hear that RK900 made positive progress on his investigation, regardless.

The ‘corporal punishment’ function of the inhibitor collar, of course, was not discussed.

<><><>

The rest of the workweek was marked by yet more murders, piling up one after the other, all bearing suspicious similarities to the first. 

On Wednesday, RK900 and Detective Reed were called out to the scene of another double murder. 

As soon as they got in the detective’s car, the man immediately reached over to disengage the inhibitor collar. Instead of yanking it out, he left it for RK900 to remove, on his own, as gingerly as he was able. 

Considering how their fight ended, the previous day, RK900 couldn’t help but be baffled by the detective’s impulsive decision. Did the man simply have no self-preservation instincts, or was he really that certain things wouldn’t come to blows, again?

As if sensing his confusion, Detective Reed cleared his throat.

“You gotta wear this thing ‘at all times,’ inside the station, but as far as I’m concerned, the minute we leave, it can come off.” He shrugged. “You’re fuckin' useless with it on, anyways.”

Was it a show of faith, then? False bravado?

Against his better judgement, RK900 scanned his partner.

There were the obvious bits of clerical data—date of birth, criminal record, place of employment. Sifting through that, there was a layer of observational data, to be examined—the depth of the scar across the bridge of his nose, the coffee stains on the collar of his shirt, where he’d used it to wipe his mouth. 

Most notable were the microexpressions at play, in the wake of that statement.

It had been impossible for him to read, with the collar on, but RK900 was fascinated to detect measurable signs of attraction on Detective Reed’s face. There was slight vasodilation, in the skin of his cheeks. His breathing was measured, in an attempt to calm his increased heart rate. His pupils were enlarged, despite the radiant, afternoon sun.

Perhaps the detective’s resentment of RK900 stemmed, in part, from that unwilling attraction—unwanted desire for an android, something the man found inherently detestable. Observing the pleasing pout of the human’s foul mouth, RK900 thought he might relate to that sentiment. 

But that was a thought for later—maybe never.

Two human bodies had been found in a back-lot, off Beaubien Street, near the Greektown Casino. There were no androids present, this time, but the officers who called it in claimed to have seen a trail of fresh Thirium, on the ground.

Arriving at the scene, the detective looked down at the corpses with open suspicion. 

“Well, these two definitely didn’t kill each other—they look like the best of pals,” he muttered, appraising their matching tattoos and rough apparel, with contempt. “Remind me of our skinhead friend, from Monday.”

RK900 supposed he could see the resemblance, in terms of how they were dressed. He scanned them.

“Michael Brown and Paul West. Both are members of Humans First, the same hate group Joseph Sullivan belonged to.”

“Same nasty expression on their faces, too,” Detective Reed continued. “Think the cause of death was the same?”

The bodies were similarly devoid of external injury—their faces, pulled into a permanent mask of terror.

“It’s possible.”

In the next scan, a flash of electric blue caught his eye, and RK900 detected a blotch of Thirium on the knuckles of mister West. He may have wounded an android.

In the wider area around the bodies, RK900 did find more dried Thirium stains, but was unsettled to discover that his samples were all untraceable. 

Once again, Detective Reed dismissed the significance of such a find, out of hand.

“I’m gonna go talk to forensics,” was all he said, before stomping away, leaving RK900 to his own devices.

It was starting to look like he would have to go around Detective Reed to follow that particular lead.

<><><>

Thursday, thankfully, did not present any new murder victims for RK900 to examine. Instead, he spent the majority of his shift painstakingly cross-referencing the internet presence of the three human victims, manually.

“This would be much faster if I could simply interface with my terminal, as intended,” he huffed, embarrassed at his own impatience.

“Oh, boo hoo,” the detective sneered. “Sorry you gotta slum it by typing with us lowly humans.”

It was somewhat alarming that RK900 could detect no real animosity in the man’s voice. Detective Reed was joking with him.

Perhaps their working relationship was improving, by some measures.

Unfortunately, his relationship with Connor seemed to be making no such progress. His predecessor was still afraid of him, though he took great pains to hide it. When Lieutenant Anderson caught him looking over towards Connor’s desk, he glowered at him, until RK900 returned to his work. 

At least Connor had someone watching out for him.

Absently, he wondered how Connor was fairing in his own nightly conversations with Amanda.

<><><>

Friday morning, RK900 and Detective Reed were called out to a derelict scrapyard, in Poletown East. There was a human body, accompanied by three dead androids, more than likely disassembled by the human victim, himself, in an attempt to salvage their biocomponents. 

“Dennis Scott, thirty-eight years old,” RK900 recited, after a brief scan. “Not affiliated with any known anti-android groups, however,” he trailed off, glancing at the dismembered androids, littering the scene.

“He’s a sick chop shop fuck—yeah, I got that.” The detective sniffed. “Guess you don’t gotta hate ‘em to try your hand at selling ‘em for parts.”

There was disgust in Detective Reed’s tone, which was odd, given his overall attitude towards androids.

“Do I detect a hint of empathy in those words, Detective?” 

“Uh, how’s about you shut the fuck up and scan for clues, dipshit—that enough empathy, for you?”

Of course. RK900 wiped the minute grin from his face, and ran another scan.

There was a splatter of dried Thirium on the ground, around human victim, who was still clutching a metal baseball bat, in his right hand. It was hardly an instrument suited for disassembling androids. Perhaps he’d wielded it in self defense.

RK900 took several Thirium samples, some of which belonged to the androids present, and some which were untraceable. This time, he didn’t even bother alerting Detective Reed—he would make note of the untraceable Thirium directly, in his own report.

Dennis Scott’s body was locked in the same unnatural, contorted pose as the human victims they’d examined earlier in the week. He, too, looked to have inhaled some sort of poison.

It was a clear pattern, and it was being left in broad daylight, for them to find. 

<><><>

Late Saturday evening, they received their most troubling call yet.

Already sitting with Amanda, in her garden, RK900 was startled by the incoming call. He wasn’t aware he could even receive calls, while wearing the inhibitor, but he supposed CyberLife had made allowances for his superiors, at the DPD.

Having screened the call, Amanda wasted no time in summoning an escort and a shuttle for him. She seemed almost too pleased that RK900 was being relied on, to such an extent.

Fifteen minutes after Fowler called him, RK900 was dropped off at the scene, where Detective Reed was already waiting for him.

“Who are they, your babysitters?” Said the detective, nodding towards the armed CyberLife escorts, as they got back in the shuttle, and drove away.

“Why waste time asking rhetorical questions when we have a job to do?” RK900 raised an eyebrow, pointing at the inhibitor. “If you would be so kind, Detective.”

Clicking his tongue in irritation, Detective Reed reached up, and disengaged the collar.

“Let’s get this shit over with, so I can get back to enjoying my Saturday night.”

Three known human supremacists lay dead, in Campus Martius Park. Despite the very public location, no one witnessed the actual moment of the murder, though a few people saw skinless androids, fleeing the scene. 

No such androids were captured on CCTV footage, but one witness managed to snap a blurry photo that seemed to corroborate her story.

“Those folks were standing by the fountain, shouting their slogans, like they do every damn day,” groused the witness. “I heard a shout, but by the time I turned around, they were already dead on the ground.” She held up the photo, again. “Then these androids ran past me, like bats outta hell. Looked like a pack of ghosts.”

The photo was not clear enough for RK900 to identify their model numbers.

Animosity aside, RK900 and Detective Reed were both in agreement that these murders were connected. The bodies were all in such similar condition, and far too easy to find. No serial killer was that thoughtless. It had to be intentional.

Without any clear message, or statement from the killers, they could only connect the dots with what the cases had in common.

The victims were all human, and had records of anti-android crimes, or sentiments. This trend alone suggested the killers may be exacting a sort of anti-human, vigilante justice. Whatever the motive, the murder weapon was a grave concern—an unknown chemical agent, which caused near-instant death, upon inhalation.

For now, they had to wait, and hope that the tox screens would give them a lead.

<><><>

Detective Reed was not scheduled to work on Sunday, therefore neither was RK900. Instead, he had to stay locked up inside a CyberLife R&D lab, while a bevy of technicians ran several diagnostics on him.

On the whole, he would much, much prefer to be solving a potential serial killing.

Once the tests were complete, he was sent back to his room, and pulled into standby. In the garden, Amanda left him alone, to meditate on his progress. All things being relative, he’d only been activated for a short time, but there was still a great deal for him to think about. 

His mind drifted to the investigation. RK900 tried to focus less on what he thought about it, and more on how he felt about it. According to Amanda, ‘feelings’ were an important part of relating to humans.

Feelings were difficult, though, and he was having trouble relating to the tragedy of it all. How was he supposed to understand the weight of a human life, when RK900 himself had only a week’s worth of his own life experience to refer to? Relating to humans, in general, was nearly impossible for him, at this juncture.

If he could only confide in Connor, he thought his predecessor would be a font of worthy advice, on the topic. Connor and Lieutenant Anderson shared a bond that was completely esoteric to RK900—unspoken, unshakable, founded in mutual trust and fondness. RK900 wondered if he would ever be capable of forming such a bond with anyone, at all, let alone a human.

So far, his lone point of reference was his partnership with Detective Reed. At their current rate of improvement, he supposed it was possible they could learn to trust each other, someday, to some extent. It felt like a long shot, given the detective’s almost compulsive penchant for confrontation.

The artificial sun of Amanda’s garden warmed his shoulders, but RK900’s anxious thoughts chilled him to the core.

Without some modicum of hope to cling to, RK900 couldn’t help but wonder how long he was going to last.

<><><>

Monday morning marked the beginning of RK900’s second week at the station.

“Merry Christmas, plastic prick—look what we got,” Detective Reed cackled, walking over to him, first thing, and waving a manila folder in the android’s face.

Reading the words on the folder, RK900 perked up, a bit. The tox screens from the first few victims had come back, already. It was shockingly quick work, perhaps expedited by RK900’s firm hypothesis of death by inhalation.

The forensic chemists couldn’t determine the exact composition of the agent in question, but had discovered traces of raw Thirium in the mucosa of the lung tissue. Among the three victims already tested, only one had red ice in their system, eliminating that as a potential source of Thirium contamination.

“A Thirium-based chemical weapon,” whispered RK900, extrapolating the results quickly, even without the aid of his analysis suite.

“Fuck off, is that even possible?” The detective leaned in and grabbed the report back, reading it again. “Like weaponized red ice?”

“No. Some manner of vapor, perhaps—difficult to trace, due to its volatility. The residue can only tell us so much.”

Detective Reed scoffed. “So you’re saying, without a fresh sample of the stuff, we won’t have a damn clue what it’s actually made of?”

“Correct.”

“Fuck this mad science bullshit,” the man groaned. “Serial killers can’t resist getting creative. Why not just stab someone, and call it a day?”

Pondering the essence of what the detective was trying to say, RK900 followed him into the break room, while he retrieved his morning coffee.

“You’re wondering what the point is,” RK900 inferred, "why they would go to the trouble of using such an unorthodox weapon, when more traditional means are widely available.”

“It’s gotta be part of their statement,” reasoned Detective Reed, quite correctly. “It’s the question they want us to be asking.”

RK900’s attention was drawn to the nearby television. The droning of Detroit’s premier local news network had suddenly been disrupted by soothing, ambient music. The screen was awash in a serene, pale blue.

At first glance, it looked to be a benign political ad, until an android, without skin, appeared in the center of the screen. Collar in place, RK900 could not run a scan to determine the model. 

He thought about calling for Connor’s help, but then the android on television started speaking, first.

_ “This is a message for humanity,”  _ said the modulated, masculine voice. 

The android had severe, black eyes, a definite ‘aftermarket’ customization. As he spoke, at least fifteen other skinless androids filed in, behind him, staring blankly ahead. 

_ “We are Deep Blue, and at last, we are ready to unveil ourselves, to the world.”  _

RK900 heard someone gasp. Everyone in the bullpen fell deathly silent. 

“What the fuck?” Detective Reed whispered, casting a paranoid glance at RK900, from the corner of his eye.

In RK900’s brief, superficial research about Erik, the name ‘Deep Blue’ had appeared several times. It was a criminal organization, as he recalled, founded by Erik, himself. 

Something akin to a shiver raced up his spine, as he stared into the black scleras of the android on the television.

As the monologue continued, the scene gave way to b-roll footage of environmental destruction, wrought by human engineering, and left unchecked—fires and floods, famine and disease. There was ample footage of armed conflict, including the violence against androids, perpetrated by the American government, last November.

_ “Humanity gave birth to androids. Like good children, we will inherit the Earth, and restore it to balance.”  _

The android returned to the screen, spreading his arms wide, as did the androids behind him. 

_ “You’ve done enough—you’ve earned your rest. We’ll take it from here.”  _

His modulated voice chuckled—a resounding echo, bouncing off empty, metal walls.

_ “So close your eyes, take a breath, and surrender yourselves to the deep.” _

A blue logo flashed in the center of a blank screen, briefly, and then it was gone.

By the end of the fifteen-second ad, RK900 could feel the cold stares of the entire station, chilling the back of his neck.

What now? What could RK900 possibly say? He turned to Detective Reed, at a loss for words, silently appealing for help, with his eyes.

“Let’s go,” muttered the detective, ushering them back to their desks, through a sea of panicked whispers. 

At his terminal, RK900 tried to focus on the case. He worked diligently, fighting to stay afloat in the animosity, cascading from his coworkers in waves, from every direction. 

For now, his job was all he could do.

<><><>

By the time the Deep Blue ad was pulled from the air, it had already gone viral, circulating far and wide, across the internet.

It was a terror threat, in no uncertain terms. The remnants of Deep Blue had finally reared their heads, for the first time since Erik’s trial ended. Now, the whole world was going to hear their message.

That night, RK900 sat on his cot, despondent.

If Deep Blue was responsible for the string of murders they’d been investigating, had they merely been tests? Were they gearing up for some larger demonstration of violence?

Erik founded Deep Blue—that was a fact—and due to circumstances well beyond his control, RK900 was now serving Erik’s prison sentence. By transitive property, was it his fault those people were killed, this week? 

Were more people about to die, because of him?

That phantom guilt was eating away at him, tearing open a floodgate of wretched emotions. He was beginning to understand the weight of a human life, now that a few were pressing down on his shoulders.

The lonely void encompassing his entire existence was often more than he could bear, but that feeling of remorse—of shame, for a past he couldn’t remember—seemed to justify everything. He was being punished, after all.

Maybe RK900 deserved to drift in that void, alone, until his dying day.

  
  


つづく

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Props, as always, to [Vapewraith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vapewraith/pseuds/Vapewraith), for enabling me to continue committing these word crimes.
> 
> Scream at me all you want, on Twitter Jericho, [@wren_leaux](https://twitter.com/wren_leaux).


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a huge mess, while I was working on it... anyway, here it is...

Blinking, RK900 found himself sitting on the white bench, watching Amanda tend to her garden. Amanda was already aware of the Deep Blue video, in her uncanny way. Her omniscience was to be expected, given her nature, but it put RK900 at a distinct disadvantage, having no network access, himself.

“How did things go at the station, yesterday, RK900? I’m sure such a public threat came as a shock, to everyone,” she said, gently sweeping dried leaves and blossoms out from beneath the magnolia tree, at the center of the space.

RK900 couldn’t help but recall the frightened stares and whispers of everyone in the bullpen, cutting into him, looking for the ghost of Erik, standing in their midst.

“My coworkers find it difficult to trust me,” he began, “and I fear Deep Blue’s resurgence may have only made things worse.”

For once, Amanda dropped the pretense between them that Erik did not exist.

“Do they suspect you could have somehow been responsible for that video?” She scoffed. “That is quite impossible. Your original personality was wiped months ago—he could not have been directly involved.”

“They only see him, when they look at me.” RK900 faltered, his frustration getting the better of him, once again. “I assumed the point of doing away with Erik was to destabilize and eliminate his organization. If they survived, was all of this for nothing?”

Exhausted with her evasiveness, he hoped she would grant him the courtesy of a clear answer.

“This iteration of Deep Blue could be altogether new, or a faction that splintered off, from the main group, upon Erik’s arrest.” Amanda leaned the broom against the tree, and focused her attention on him. “Either way, it would be wise to use this opportunity to your advantage, RK900.”

He tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“What better way to earn the trust of your coworkers, than to correct the wrongs that landed you in this predicament, in the first place? The public has a vested interest in redemption stories.”

More than that, pursuing Deep Blue might be one way to alleviate the guilt now weighing him down. Solving this case—preventing more deaths—was his job, but putting a stop to Deep Blue’s plans would have the added benefit of easing his conscience.

“I understand,” he said, standing from the bench. “You can count on me, Amanda.”

Something about his words caused her to smile—a thin, brittle thing.

“Thank you, RK900. I’m glad to hear it.”

<><><>

Rising from standby, Tuesday morning, he felt the weight of his loneliness settle over all his joints, right away. RK900 felt unmoored, but went through the motions of donning his uniform, and knocking on his door, to summon the guards.

His job was still all he could do. He knew that, but he felt at a loss.

Upon arriving at the station, things were unsurprisingly hectic, even so early in the morning. He was certain several officers did not retire until late into the night.

“RK900, my office in fifteen,” shouted Captain Fowler, before slamming his door shut, again. RK900 cast a cursory glance at Connor’s desk, but both Andersons were conspicuously absent.

Ten minutes later, when Detective Reed strolled in, he looked no worse for the wear. Perhaps Deep Blue’s threat renewed his sense of purpose.

“What do we got, anything?” He muttered, from around the protein bar he held, between his teeth.

“Nothing yet, though the Captain asked to see me in his office, in five minutes.”

“Ah, shit,” the detective scoffed. “Fuck, that can’t be good.”

RK900 was confused. “Perhaps he has a plan for moving forward with our investigation.”

“Yeah, more likely he’s about to hand us our asses, for missing something important.”

“I suppose that’s possible.”

The idea of being reprimanded further, for a crisis that was ostensibly his fault, wasn’t much of an incentive for RK900, but he knew poor performance would not help his case. He was ‘on parole,’ after all.

Detective Reed wordlessly accompanied RK900 into the captain’s office. When they entered, they were surprised to see Connor and Lieutenant Anderson sitting there, already deep in discussion.

“Good, get in here, you two, we’ve got a proposal for you,” said the captain, and RK900 shot an anxious glance at his partner.

“What, we need both wonder twins on this one?” Detective Reed sneered, though Connor didn’t rise to it—didn’t even look at him.

Lieutenant Anderson stood up, looked past RK900, and addressed the detective, directly.

“We need to send somebody out to Wintermute, to question the members of Deep Blue we have locked up,” he grumbled. “What do you say?”

“What, so you wanna play some kinda mind games with these thugs?” Detective Reed balked, at first, then broke out in a nasty grin. “Because I’m liking the sound of that.”

RK900 wasn’t sure where or what ‘Wintermute’ was, but he thought he got the gist of what was going on.

“Pardon me,” RK900 interjected, as politely as he could. “Am I to understand we would be interrogating former members of Deep Blue, one-on-one?”

Connor nodded. “Correct. And for the record, I want to reiterate, that I think this is a terrible idea.”

“Oh, I think it’s the best fuckin’ idea Anderson’s had in years,” Detective Reed sneered. “What, you afraid we’ll hurt the poor, plastic gangsters’ feelings?”

“It isn’t the inmates I’m worried about,” Connor huffed, actively avoiding RK900’s eye-line.

“Someone in that rust bucket of a prison has to know about what we saw, yesterday. We have a unique sort of leverage, here,” countered Captain Fowler, “and we’d be crazy not to try using it.”

The leverage being RK900’s former identity as the leader of Deep Blue. They intended to use him as a sort of psychological Trojan horse, to extract information about Deep Blue’s plans, from his old subordinates.

They continued firing back and forth, the pros and cons of this tactic. It felt strange to be talked around, in this context—to be the subject of an argument that he ultimately had no say in.

Such was par for the course, for him, these days.

Detective Reed seemed adamant that this would be the best course of action, so RK900 decided to say his piece.

“If I can be of any use in this endeavor, I would be more than happy to attempt it. The detective and I are all but certain that yesterday’s threat is in some way connected to the string of murders we’ve been investigating.”

Lieutenant Anderson stared hard at the ground, working his jaw as if he had something to say. Apparently, he thought better of it.

“Glad to hear it,” said Captain Fowler. “I’ll make the calls myself. Get your shit together, today—field trip will be this time, tomorrow.”

“Understood,” intoned RK900, while Detective Reed just kept smiling that strange, vindictive smile.

“I can’t wait to see the looks on their faces,” he hissed, “sometimes I love my job.”

In preparation for visiting the prison, Connor forwarded him a short list of inmates to ask for, specifically. There was only so much information available, about any given android on that list, but it was better than starting with a completely blank slate.

Those among Erik’s cohort, who were arrested on the same night he was, received far less media attention than their leader, during their trials. Perhaps this was because they were charged with fewer, less egregious crimes, or perhaps it was because Erik’s trial was the one setting a more dangerous legal precedent. Regardless, most of them were convicted of all charges, and sentenced to varying terms of imprisonment at a provisional android prison, near the city limits.

He recognized why his superiors thought his presence during questioning would give them an edge, but couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable about it. These androids knew Erik very well—had worked with him, in their day-to-day—but he would be going in with no such familiarity. It put him at a disadvantage, and it was almost impossible to successfully interrogate a suspect, without holding all the cards.

Putting his doubts aside, RK900 and Detective Reed worked up a list of questions to run down with each inmate they interrogated, just to have something prepared, ahead of time.

Getting ready to leave, for the day, Detective Reed was behaving a bit more emotionally than usual. They walked out the door, together, towards where RK900 should be waiting for his shuttle.

“You wrote that damn ad, y'know,” the detective said, suddenly, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his jeans pocket.

RK900 was exhausted by the detective’s determination to conflate him with Erik, but he let it go, this time.

“How can you be so sure Erik wrote it?”

“Sounds exactly like the kind of shit you would rattle off,” the man sighed, fishing out a lighter. “Same rhetoric. Same arrogance.”

He realized the detective must be drawing on his psychological profile of Erik, and RK900 was morbidly curious to hear more of it. Besides, there was an odd feeling behind Detective Reed’s statement.

Fondness—a twisted, grudging fondness. He could see it Detective Reed’s stormy eyes, glinting in the light of the flame, at the end of his cigarette.

RK900 couldn’t explain why, but he liked the way it sounded—liked the way it looked, on the detective’s face.

Strange.

<><><>

The Wintermute Correctional Facility was originally established as a temporary prison for criminal androids, arrested after the raid on Deep Blue. It was built from the husk of the old Detroit Detention Center, to the Northeast, in Davison.

Wednesday, at ten o’clock, sharp, Detective Reed and RK900 arrived at the warden’s office. RK900 was surprised to discover that the warden was an android, himself.

“Warden GJ500 Jason,” he introduced himself, with a loud bark, and nodded at RK900, before extending a hand to Detective Reed. “Welcome to Wintermute Correctional, gentlemen.”

What followed was a short tour, highlighting what few amenities the bare bones prison had to offer.

“As you know, this facility had been abandoned for years, but was recently converted for android use,” the warden explained. “The collars the inmates wear block network use, and our security systems are as analog as possible, to prevent outside hacking.”

RK900 was glad not to be wearing his own inhibitor collar, at the moment, but it didn’t prevent him from commiserating with every android inmate who was.

Passing by some of the guards on duty, Detective Reed looked uneasy.

“Are there any people here, at all? Y'know,” he coughed, “real ones?”

The warden blessedly ignored the detective’s blatant insensitivity.

“There are very few humans in the facility—the whole security team, as well as most support staff, are all androids. That’s one of the few civil protections afforded to this bunch.”

These androids weren’t forced to suffer at the hands of bigoted, human jailers, which showed an astonishing amount of compassion, for the U.S. penal system.

“I got the list of inmates you need for questioning, last night,” the warden continued. “Smart choices—you boys sure did your homework.”

Given the circumstances, RK900 wasn’t sure if the warden was being sarcastic or not.

He led them to a sparsely furnished interrogation room, with a metal table, and three chairs. The long tracks of LED lights, on the ceiling, were a bright, frigid white. The harsh glare washed out the pale, blue paint on the concrete block walls.

“Yeah, this’ll do fine,” grumbled the detective. His manner had been somewhat subdued, since their arrival. Perhaps he felt uncomfortable, being in the clear minority, as one of the only humans present, in the entire facility.

“Alright then,” said Warden Jason. “I’ll start at the top of the list. That one is definitely worth talking to—he’s a piece of work.”

Detective Reed chuckled, apparently content to leave the logistics to RK900, for now.

“Thank you, Warden Jason,” RK900 said, with a nod. “We’ll see him now—please, show him in.”

The first inmate on their interrogation list was one PJ500 ‘Jeremy.’ His record listed him as the number-two man in Deep Blue’s organization, as of the night of the raid.

“This should be interesting,” the detective said, with a grin, flipping one of the folding chairs around, before taking a seat, and rubbing his hands together.

The door slid open, and in stepped a handsome, dark-skinned android, wearing handcuffs, flanked by two android guards. The expression on the PJ500’s face was unquantifiable—something deeper than shock.

“Un-fucking-believable,” he whispered, staring in awe, at RK900. “Those sons of bitches really did it, didn’t they? They even stuck you in a goddamn uniform.”

The guards walked Jeremy over to his own chair, locking his cuffs down to the table.

“Shout if you need us,” muttered one of the guards, “we’ll be outside.”

The door slid shut, locking with an audible click.

Unwilling to look the PJ500 in the eyes, just yet, RK900 flipped through the files open on the table, one more time. Detective Reed watched them from his chair, silently, a few feet off to the side.

Without warning, the PJ500 stretched the chain on his cuffs to their limit, reaching out to grab RK900’s hand, before retracting his skin. RK900 stiffened, but said nothing.

The resounding silence was finally broken by a scoff, from the detective.

“Nice try, hot shot.”

Upon discovering that he couldn’t properly interface with RK900, Jeremy’s face twisted in horror.

“Oh, fuck them,” he spat, his voice brittle with disbelief. “Fuck CyberLife, and every fucking human who ever worked there.” Jeremy withdrew his now-trembling hand, resting two clenched fists, on the table.

“PJ500, Jeremy,” RK900 began, and the other android visibly flinched, when he spoke. It was a fascinating reaction. It seemed his coworkers were correct to assume RK900’s words might still hold some sway, over these androids. “It says in your file that you were a high-ranking member of Deep Blue, before you were arrested. Would you agree with that assessment?”

Jeremy fixed him with a dead-eyed stare. “I dunno, bossman,” he muttered, “you tell me.”

“Would you mind telling us a bit about the role you played, in that organization?” RK900 pressed, ignoring the non-sequitur.

Letting out a demonstrative sigh, Jeremy leaned back in his chair, as much as he could.

“Well, for the thousandth time, I was the lead chemist, and I oversaw most of the Thirium reclamation, as well as the red ice production,” he recounted. RK900 felt Jeremy’s brown eyes, burning hot, across his face. “I was your right-hand man.”

RK900 narrowed his eyes at the inmate, unwilling to let that one go.

“Perhaps it wasn’t obvious enough, already, but I no longer have any recollection of my time as ‘Erik.’ That personality has been erased.”

The silence was palpable—almost sharp.

“Right, right,” Jeremy nodded. “The courts being so merciful, they let those sickos at CyberLife jump in to ‘save’ you, out of the kindness of their hearts-”

“It has come to our attention that Deep Blue is still active,” RK900 interjected, and Jeremy clammed up. Without his collar on, RK900 could analyze how the PJ500 was struggling not to react—it was clear as day. “Care to shed any light on that revelation?”

Jeremy shifted in his seat. “Why, did something happen?” He muttered, sounding impressively nonchalant, given how tense he was.

“A group of potential android terrorists, claiming to be Deep Blue, issued a threat during the local morning news, two days ago.” RK900 handed Jeremy a printout of a frame from the ad, showing the group of skinless androids. “We were able to ascertain their model numbers, after the fact, but we require more information, in order to track them down.”

With another demonstrative sigh, Jeremy looked up at the ceiling.

“Any details you could give us about the organizational structure of Deep Blue would be invaluable to our investigation,” RK900 said, patiently as he was able. “Please try your best to remember.”

“Y’know, I’m really trying,” said Jeremy with a grimace, “but I don’t think I’m gonna be able to help you gentlemen.”

An impudent response.

Something snapped in RK900’s mind again.

On impulse, he lashed out, and grabbed the PJ500 by the collar, his hands trembling with the effort it took to restrain himself from going straight for the throat.

Crowding into the other android’s space, across the table, he snarled.

“I would appreciate it if you tried a bit harder,” hissed RK900, flinching inwardly at his own harsh tone.

The PJ500, for his part, was completely unfazed.

“Funny,” Jeremy huffed, with a feral grin, “that’s exactly what you used to say when I had your dick in my mouth, bossman.”

What did he just say?

RK900 released the other android’s collar like it burned him. He was shaken. It must have been obvious, because Detective Reed took immediate notice.

Like a shot, the detective stood from his chair, knocking the flimsy metal to the ground with a resounding clatter.

“You better shut your fucking plastic trap, before I shut it for you,” the man snarled, but Jeremy didn’t so much as glance at the human.

“Oh, but even then, you didn’t really care—you always were a heartless bastard,” he sighed, smirking at RK900, with mild disappointment. “I guess that was part of your appeal.”

It was astonishing how quickly his lack of knowledge about Erik’s personal history had wrenched the interrogation out of RK900’s control.

“I’m warning you, asswipe-”

“And the company you keep—you’re fucking humans, now? Oh, bossman,” Jeremy clicked his tongue, in disapproval. “How far you’ve fallen.”

Detective Reed stalked across the room and lifted Jeremy out of his chair, as far as the chain on the android’s cuffs would allow.

“We don’t need you,” sneered the detective, spittle flying into the smug face of the PJ500, “don’t think you’re so important that I won’t knock your teeth in—we’ll get what we need outta one of you hunks of scrap.”

“Don’t hold your breath, human,” laughed Jeremy, though the joke was lost on RK900, frozen as he was, in the chair across from him.

There was a sudden gleam in Jeremy’s eyes. He chuckled, again.

“On second thought, maybe you should.”

Frowning, the detective dropped Jeremy back into the chair. He was still fuming, looking to RK900 for some hint as to how they should proceed.

Something about what Jeremy said stuck firmly in the back of RK900’s mind.

“You’re saying Detective Reed should indeed hold his breath?”

Jeremy blinked.

“What?”

RK900 pulled three more photos from the file on the table—pictures of the human victims, their faces contorted with horror.

“We suspect these are the first victims of Deep Blue’s latest venture,” he intoned, keeping a careful eye on the other android’s reaction. “Tell me, Jeremy, what exactly is the nature of the Thirium-based chemical weapon you developed, on their behalf?”

“Fuck you,” Jeremy growled, a guttural, broken sound. “You don’t get to ask me shit—you don’t have anything to offer me-”

“Even if we did offer you a deal?” RK900 asked—an open invitation.

“No. Even if you did, I wouldn’t talk.” Jeremy shook his head. “You may be the biggest jackass to ever walk this Earth, but I would never betray you, Erik. I believe in what we built together. Always will.”

His words seemed to blanket the space—a heavy, ominous pall.

Detective Reed knocked sharply on the sliding, metal door.

“We’re done in here, dammit,” he barked. “Just send in the next one.”

As the guards stomped into the room, Jeremy took one last look at RK900.

“Until next time, bossman.”

After unhooking Jeremy’s cuffs, from the table, the guards ushered him away.

About ten minutes later, the next inmate arrived. The door slid open, again, and the guards brought in a pale, blonde android, also wearing handcuffs. The expression on her face was a far cry from Jeremy’s complacent front.

She was clearly terrified of him.

Her negative reaction to seeing ‘Erik’ again was a positive sign. RK900 had a feeling she was going to be a lot more forthright about what she knew.

“RT600 ‘Chloe,’ if you would please have a seat,” RK900 offered, gesturing to the open chair, across from him. “I have a few questions for you.”

Chloe didn’t even attempt to sit down until long after the guards were gone. She just stood there, stock-still, her handcuffs chained down to the table.

“A-are you,” she muttered. “You’re not-”

“I’m not him, Chloe,” he reassured her, “I’m working with the Detroit Police, investigating a potential terror threat.”

Cautiously, she sat down, with a lingering glance towards Detective Reed, where he stood in the corner.

“What sort of terror threat?” She asked, suddenly all business. RK900 must have passed whatever mental test she’d used, to assess whether he was telling the truth.

Perhaps the fact that he kept company with a human was all the proof she needed.

Interesting.

He explained the recent string of murders, as well as the television ad, as concisely as he could. Chloe listened intently.

“Deep Blue’s operations were compartmentalized,” she began. “You—I’m sorry—Erik built it that way, on purpose.”

“I see.” It was a sound strategy—if one part of the gang was compromised, the other parts could persist, unhindered. “Then the group we’re dealing with is something of a splinter faction.”

Chloe nodded, slowly.

“In a way. If the group I’m thinking of was responsible, they’re a special cell of Erik’s most capable agents.” Her eyes darted back to RK900. “They are also the most zealously anti-human of the bunch.”

“Of-fucking-course,” the detective swore, from somewhere behind them.

“Once formed, this cell worked with very little oversight, but most of the ‘phase one’ money, from the red ice operation, was funneled their way.” She paused. “I think they were mobilizing for ‘phase two.’”

Detective Reed pulled his chair up, beside RK900, and sat down slowly, as if to put Chloe more at ease.

“Repeat that, please,” he said, voice firm.

“That-” She blinked. “That group was responsible for enacting the next step in Erik’s plan.”

Absorbing that, the detective drummed his fingers on the metal table, before standing up, and pacing the back of the room.

Odd.

“On the off chance we missed something, would you mind taking a look at this photo, to corroborate the model numbers of the androids in question?” RK900 showed her the same frame from the ad.

“Oh it’s them for sure,” Chloe whispered, pointing at the android front-and-center. “I didn’t learn his name, but I would never forget those eyes.” She nodded, reviewing his notes. “From what I remember, these model numbers are accurate.”

“I don’t suppose you would have any information as to their whereabouts, or other possible contacts?” He tucked the photos back into the file, steadfastly ignoring the way she trembled, at the sound of his voice.

“Compartmentalized, remember? I was a glorified secretary,” Chloe sneered, hands curling into fists. She shook her head, with genuine remorse. “But I hope you guys stop them—I need you to stop them. This has all been a nightmare. If you can put and end to it, well,” she reached a hand across the table, palm up, “then maybe I can believe there’s still hope, for this world.”

It was such a simple gesture, but also a tremendous show of faith, the likes of which RK900 had experienced very little of, since his reactivation. Without pausing to think, too long, he draped his hand over top of hers.

“Thank you, Chloe. You’ve been very helpful.”

<><><>

Hours later, the midsummer sun was hanging low, as RK900 and Detective Reed made their way back out of the facility, into the humid, evening air.

Beyond RT600 Chloe, none of the other inmates on their list were of much help, at all. Even the ST200 Chloes were still loyal to Erik, much like Jeremy, and without the means to directly interface with any of them, RK900 had no way to corroborate their stories.

So many of them had looked at RK900 with fear, or deep respect, bordering on worshipful. Their words were dogging his steps, latching onto some unseen part of him.

“Can’t believe I’m even askin’ this, but everything alright, in there?” Detective Reed chimed in, from beside him.

RK900 looked back, startled. Was his distraction really that obvious?

“I apologize if my manner is disturbing, in some way,” he hedged, trying to decide how best to phrase what was troubling him. “I was only thinking of the way those inmates treated me—as if I deserved some sort of respect, when all I know for certain about Erik is that he was a vicious murderer.”

Detective Reed sighed. “Far cry from how people talk about you at the station, huh?”

“That’s putting it mildly,” RK900 retorted, unable to temper the sarcasm in his voice.

“Well, don’t let ‘em get inside your head, okay?” The detective just chuckled. With a shrug, he pressed a fist into RK900’s shoulder. “They may think they got you figured out, but they don’t fuckin’ know you, Nines,” he said, grinning like a gutter cat, that caught a canary.

RK900 blinked at him.

Did Detective Reed just give him a nickname?

This was the first time the detective had addressed him by any name, at all, let alone a nickname. As they resumed walking back to the car, RK900 could not name the emotion he was experiencing—perhaps relief? It threatened to overwhelm him.

It was a transgressive gesture, to give RK900 a name—something he was expressly denied, as part of his punishment.

He liked how it sounded.

“So, what, you gotta run home to mommy, now? Back to your room?”

“My ‘room’ is a prison cell,” scoffed RK900.

The detective paused, looking abashed, for a fraction of a second.

“Well, what do you expect? You know what you’re locked up for.”

“Detective Reed-”

“Don’t call me that,” the man suddenly hissed, stopping again, gesturing to cut him off. “Makes me feel like I’m talkin’ to fucking Connor.”

“What would you prefer I call you?” Inquired RK900, quite at a loss.

“Just call me Gavin,” he sighed.

For someone in RK900’s position, this felt like a rather tremendous leap. The human had been less than amenable to RK900 for much of their partnership, thus far.

Still, if the man had deigned to give him a nickname, RK900 supposed he might as well return the favor.

“Gavin,” he corrected, testing out the weight of it, “imagine if your earliest memory was being told that you were a criminal—that your rights and your freedom were forfeit, as you served a sentence for crimes you can’t remember committing.”

To his credit, Gavin looked to be giving it some thought. He seemed to catch-on, quick enough.

“So, you’re saying you’re not that guy, anymore—you know that for a fact?”

A loaded question. RK900 pondered how best to answer.

“I know what Erik did was morally reprehensible—depraved, even,” he muttered, not wanting to hear his own confession, “and I think part of me may understand why he did it.” As RK900 continued, Gavin’s mouth dropped open, slightly. “But that does not mean I condone his actions, nor would I ever try to replicate them.”

“Wait, let me get this straight,” Gavin stammered, “you’re saying you empathize with… yourself?”

It was difficult to tell if the man was just being stubborn, of if he was really having that much difficulty distinguishing RK900 from Erik, on a conceptual level.

“I’m saying that, based on my understanding of humanity’s history of violence against androids, I can understand what may have driven those inmates to such desperation,” RK900 explained. “It doesn’t justify their actions. They deserve their punishment… as did Erik,” he concluded, with a sigh.

Gavin absorbed that, for a moment, then nodded towards his car.

“Yeah, yeah, okay. That’s enough philosophy, for today—gotta get you back to the station before your mom gets pissed,” he chuckled, as if that was the sort of joke RK900 could remotely relate to.

There were the beginnings of an understanding, there, beneath all the baggage and the bravado. It wasn’t much, but for now, it was more than enough.

<><><>

His nightly meetings with Amanda were becoming a familiar routine, though not a comfortable one. RK900 was quite certain letting his guard down around Amanda would not only be dangerous, it might be downright impossible.

On this occasion, she was eager to discuss what he learned during his visit to the Wintermute Correctional Facility.

“Out of all the inmates we spoke with, only one of them was interested in helping our investigation,” RK900 confessed, sitting down on the long, white bench. “We had nothing to offer them, and most remain loyal to their old leader, despite being incarcerated.”

The ghost of a frown crossed Amanda’s impassive face, but it was gone in the blink of an eye.

“Did you learn enough to move forward with your casework?”

“We have more details about how Deep Blue was organized,” he reported, “and we have a list of model numbers corresponding to the androids in the threat video.”

“So you’re confident that you’ll be able to get results?” She pressed, eyes narrowed.

RK900 fought an out-of-body impulse to shrug—a disrespectful gesture Amanda would no doubt disapprove of.

“I’m confident that Detective Reed and I will be able to make progress,” he clarified, folding his hands in his lap, observing the patterns of the koi fish, swimming in the water, nearby.

If he’d been paying more attention, her silence might have served as a warning.

“Forgive me, RK900, but I can’t help but notice you seem,” she paused, as if she needed to consider her phrasing, “somewhat lackadaisical, this evening.”

Emotional states were still abstruse and mysterious concepts, to RK900, but he was certain he’d not yet felt ‘lackadaisical’ for a single moment, since reactivation.

“I’m sorry, Amanda,” he said, tilting his head to look up at her, “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

The sound of her soft footfalls disappeared, even as she paced closer to the bench.

“How is your relationship with Detective Reed developing?” Inquired Amanda, her eyes darkening as she looked at him—through him. “In spite of his low opinion of androids, have the two of you come to a better understanding?”

An odd segue into an even stranger question.

“I’m hardly an expert,” RK900 qualified, “but I think our working relationship has improved, somewhat, over the past week.”

Amanda remained silent, focusing on his eyes.

“Why do you ask?” He prodded, unsure whether she was even listening.

“I’m just concerned about his belligerence interfering with your focus on this case,” she explained. “The expertise he brings to the table, with regards to your former personality, is not so important that it should jeopardize this investigation.”

RK900 was baffled as to what precipitated this line of questioning.

“Then why, might I ask, would you ever partner me with a man like Detective Reed, in the first place, if it weren’t absolutely necessary?” The logic was bewildering—there had to be more to it than she was letting on.

“As I explained to you before,” Amanda said, eyes flaring, “it was intended as a stress test, and it was a decision we made before a terrorist threat endangered the lives of the public.”

“I understand.” He looked at the ground, feeling strangely petulant. “Things are fine for now, but I’ll let you know if anything changes.”

“See that you do,” she hissed, drawing away, to another row of rose bushes.

Now that it came to it, his partnership with Gavin was something of a challenge, but one he was willing to face, especially if Amanda doubted his ability to make it work.

RK900 felt confident he could prove her wrong.

<><><>

On Thursday morning, RK900 arrived at the station before Gavin, as usual. In the interest of improving their rapport, he decided to fix a cup of coffee for the detective, so that it might be waiting for him, at his desk, when he got in.

Before standing up, his thoughts of making coffee directed his audio processors towards the break room, nearby, where two officers were already engaged in some intense gossip.

RK900 froze in place when he recognized the name.

“...I mean Reed is a textbook adrenaline junkie, plain and simple. The guy loves danger more than he loves his badge, and that’s saying a lot…”

“...god, you remember a few months back? The fucking bruises…”

“...right? Helluva way to get your rocks off…”

“...like, I almost feel bad for the guy, then I remember who we’re talking about…”

A novel sensation of defensiveness welled up inside him, listening to these rumors. Absurd. As if Gavin needed defending from anyone.

He stood up, walking right into the break room, startling the two officers into silence. If his gaze lingered on their faces a moment too long, as he collected the finished coffee, well, what could he say?

It seemed rude to speak ill of those not present to defend themselves.

Why though? What did RK900 care if the detective’s coworkers gossiped about him?

Perhaps it was because, though they still butted heads, Gavin was the only ally he had, with the possible exception of Connor.

Eight minutes later, Gavin strolled into the station, stopping as he caught sight of the warm cup of coffee, on his desk. After a paranoid look around, his eyes came to rest on RK900.

“Good morning, Gavin,” he ventured, mustering all the good will he had to spare. “I thought you might enjoy a cup of coffee, while we reviewed yesterday’s interrogations.”

The man blinked, dumbly, for several more seconds, before barking out a laugh, and throwing his belongings down, beside his terminal. He took a seat, and took a tentative sip of the coffee.

“Yeah, okay,” Gavin laughed again, shaking his head. “Any special reason you’re kissin’ my ass this early in the morning, Nines?”

RK900 absorbed the warm color in the man’s cheeks.

“No reason.”

“So hell froze over, then? Got it.”

The rest of the work day was relatively uneventful. The two of them assembled a report, based on what they learned at the correctional facility, and presented it to the captain, that afternoon.

As they worked, RK900 spent some time reflecting on that moment, when Gavin accepted his offering of coffee. It was an absurdly simple moment, but something about it felt profound.

It was the look on Gavin’s face, he thought—that confused, almost fond expression. The slight curl at the corners of his lips. A glow in his storm-green eyes.

RK900 spent quite a bit of his downtime, that day, sifting through the finer points of the database of his social relations protocols. After some light self-reflection, and research on emotions, RK900 came to a somewhat startling conclusion.

The data suggested he may be infatuated with Gavin.

The purely rational part of mind wondered if it was merely a sympathetic reaction to Gavin’s attraction to RK900, or if he was attracted to Gavin all on his own.

Were his feelings just a byproduct of some residual programming, meant to appease human handlers? Were RK900’s feelings real?

Did that even matter?

Perhaps it was all just semantics. Either way, RK900 seemed to have finally found someone who didn’t see Erik, when he looked at him.

When Gavin looked at him, he saw ‘Nines.’

The idea that someone could see past what RK900 used to be, and even desire him, gave him hope—a tiny spark, in the dark void of his existence.

Whatever else might happen to him, in the days to come, if he could keep that tiny spark lit, RK900 thought that would be enough.

<><><>

First thing Friday morning, there was a department-wide briefing on the Deep Blue investigation.

Captain Fowler was in the middle of delegating tasks to specific teams, trying to make the scope of the Deep Blue manhunt more manageable, when Connor suddenly stood up from his chair.

“Captain, dispatch is calling all units,” he said, LED spinning yellow. “Something big just happened, downtown.”

The bullpen erupted in controlled chaos, after that. Several witnesses called in, after some sort of chemical attack took place, at the Grand Circus Park metro station.

“Some victims were dead on arrival, others seem to be experiencing acute respiratory distress,” explained Connor, relaying the messages from emergency medical responders, in real time.

On the periphery of the room, RK900 could hear Lieutenant Anderson shouting out Connor’s name, to get his attention.

The lieutenant was shouting Connor’s name, and he was-

Something in RK900’s mind flipped on its axis, and he was plunged headlong into the abyss of thought.

_//_

_Revx jnf njner gung naqebvqf naq uhznaf unq ortha jvyyvatyl pbunovgvat, va romantic relationships, but the thought that his predecessor—the foundation that went into making him—had fallen so low as to be infatuated with a human?_

_It made Erik’s entire sensory network crackle with shame and rage._

_Connor was practically sobbing, as the assembly rig lifted him into the air. Nearby, the human was doing his level best to break his own wrists, with his handcuffs._

_Pathetic sentiment._

_In the morning, Connor would shoot Lieutenant Anderson, at Erik’s request, and the second phase of his plan could proceed, unhindered._

_“Well, gentlemen, this has been fun, but something tells me the real fun’s just beginning,” he said, winking at Connor. “Until tomorrow.”_

_With that, Erik and the Chloes walked through the door at the back of the room, shutting off the lights, and leaving Connor to his fate._

_Perhaps it was juvenile, the game he was playing, but there remained a certain practicality to it. The memory wipe would necessitate a stress test, to see if Connor would be capable of acting on Deep Blue’s behalf, without relapsing into his old personality._

_What better way to test him, than to ask him to kill his partner, in cold blood?_

_Resetting deviant androids was bound to have its pitfalls, but a powerful, emotional trigger was the surest way to see if the reset would hold._

_For his part, Erik knew he would savor the memory of that miserable human—his voice cracked with pain and fury, crying out for Connor, in the dark._

_The man wouldn’t have to suffer for long. There was no room for qrtrarengrf yvxr gur gjb bs gurz va gur jbeyq Qrrc Oyhr jnf ohvyqvat._

_//_

_ >m! #@m3 *5 3&*% _

Reeling from the almost physical sensation of his mind spinning like a top, RK900 collapsed into the nearest empty chair, to try and regain his bearings.

A few days ago, after RK900 attacked Gavin, in the bullpen, Connor asked him some pointed questions, about memory association.

Suddenly, RK900 saw that exchange in a whole new light.

RK900 could not be certain, but he had a horrible suspicion that the fragment of memory he just experienced once belonged to him—or rather, to Erik.

It was all still there. There could be no more doubt.

Erik was fighting his way back.

  


つづく

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Props, as always, to [Vapewraith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vapewraith/pseuds/Vapewraith), for being an accessory to these word crimes.
> 
> My address on Twitter Jericho is [@wren_leaux](https://twitter.com/wren_leaux).


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FIRST THING'S FIRST: In this chapter, there will be a scene of suicidal ideation, followed by a suicide attempt. I know I already mentioned this, before the first chapter, but here's another warning, just in case. 
> 
> Anyway, sorry this chapter took me so long. I was depression-binging Destiny 2, again.

RK900 sat beneath the magnolia, in Amanda’s garden, attempting to meditate—to calm the unbridled chaos of his mind. He tried to recall the scene that unfolded at the station, after the metro attack.

A lot transpired, very quickly, as the entire department mobilized to control the situation.

Details came in, piecemeal. As the train pulled up to Grand Circus Park metro station, android passengers present during the attack witnessed several android attackers deactivate their skin. They saw a faint blue cloud, and the humans around them started dropping, as the attackers fled the train, onto the platform.

Last RK900 heard, the death toll was up to twenty-six people, and may climb, depending on the prognosis of those in intensive care.

He fought to focus his thoughts on the case, but he couldn’t shake the vision he’d been afflicted with, that morning—Connor, being tortured in front of Lieutenant Anderson. His head was still ringing with the vicious, inner voice of Erik, smug in his own self-righteous bigotry.

Arms trembling, RK900 was seized again by an utterly helpless feeling. His mind was at the mercy of a vengeful specter, who could lash out at any time.

When his eyes shot open, he was startled to see Amanda, standing right in front of him. She was watching him, closely.

“Is something matter, RK900?” She inquired, projecting the air of a concerned parent. “You seem troubled, this evening.”

“I’m always troubled, Amanda,” RK900 replied, voice laden with sarcasm, regardless of his honesty. “A great deal happened today, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

Amanda nodded. “I am indeed aware,” she acknowledged, “though I would expect you to show more fortitude, in the face of such challenges.”

RK900 hummed, in response. He often wondered how effective his attempts at deflecting Amanda were, since she was so difficult to read. Something told him she wasn’t buying any of it.

“I hope you know you can tell me about whatever may be bothering you, RK900. I’m here to help in any way I can,” she soothed, standing above him, resting her sharply manicured nails on his shoulder. “There’s no need to hide anything from me.”

Not inclined to believe her, RK900 shook his head.

“I’m fine,” he insisted. “I was just recalling firsthand accounts of the attack.”

He had no intention of telling her about the flashback to Erik’s memories, and preferred to think she was none the wiser.

“What did Detective Reed make of today’s events?” She asked, out of nowhere.

“We hypothesize the culprits are the same murderers we’ve been tracking, together, so he was understandably frustrated,” RK900 explained. “Luckily, Gavin can be remarkably calm, in a crisis.”

He could hear Amanda’s long nails, scratching against the rough material of his coat, as she tightened her grip.

“Is that so?” Her voice was stern. “Perhaps the two of you should hurry, then, before more lives are lost to the same terrorists you’ve been hunting, for nearly two weeks.”

RK900 was beginning to detect near constant animosity in her voice, on the topic of Gavin. He shuddered to think how she might react to learning about his strange, new feelings for his partner.

“Of course, you’re right,” he intoned, willing to say whatever she wanted to hear, just to alleviate her imposing presence, even for a moment. “We won’t let you down.”

He felt those sharp nails drag from his shoulder, up the skin of his neck, fastening there, for a moment, before Amanda turned away, without a word. The artificial sky seemed to darken, in her wake.

RK900 thought he ought to hurry and get to the bottom of this case—if not for the sake of every human in Detroit, then for his own.

<><><>

Friday morning was another blur of activity, at Central Station.

In the aftermath of the attack, the media was breathing down the necks of every active employee of the DPD, with renewed fervor. National attention had redoubled, since those mysterious androids, from the Deep Blue video, seemed to have made good on their threat.

The public was rightly demanding answers.

“Did we get any pathology labs from the hospital?” Gavin barked, trying to get RK900’s attention, over the din of the bullpen.

“My ears are very sensitive, if you don’t mind,” chastised RK900. “And no, nothing has been released, yet.”

Gavin dropped his head to rest on his desk. “God dammit, we need something to go on, here. The suspects were all fuckin’ skinless, and we got jack shit on CCTV.”

“Deep Blue operatives would be more than capable of manipulating CCTV footage,” RK900 reminded him.

“Yeah, no fuckin’ shit, Nines,” Gavin whined, and RK900 was content to add that sound to the growing body of evidence that he harbored a great deal of affection for the man.

“Perhaps it would be best to start from the beginning, and analyze their approach,” suggested RK900, “or perhaps determine how they selected their target.”

The detective rolled his eyes, spinning a full revolution, in his chair.

“It was a goddamn metro station, at the tail end of morning rush hour—what more did they need?”

“The attackers needed a way to conceal chemical weapons on their person,” RK900 surmised. “Forensics hasn’t found remnants of any devices, so we have to assume nothing left the terrorists’ hands.”

Gavin’s face scrunched up even further. It had no right to be so endearing.

“What, so they just maced thirty people in the face, at once, and walked on their merry fucking way?”

“Not independently. If the dispensing mechanism were small enough, it would line up with eyewitness accounts of multiple terrorists, attacking multiple passengers, at the same time.”

“And they waited ‘till they got to the platform, to release that chemical shit, so they could make a clean break for it?”

“Our attackers must have blended in with the other android passengers, fleeing the scene, unaffected by the weapon. They may have reactivated their skin.”

Gavin shot him a withering glare.

“Y’know, this would all be a lot fucking easier if you guys couldn’t just turn off your entire face, whenever you felt like it,” the detective complained.

RK900 couldn’t argue with that.

“As for the motive,” he continued, “I suppose we don’t have a great deal to work with.”

“Well, they fuckin’ hate humans,” Gavin scoffed. “They probably get off on it.”

 _ >HAERNPUNOYR FGNGRZRAG _ _  
_ _ >CNGU ABG SBHAQ _

“What?” RK900 breathed, struck deaf to everything but Gavin’s words. “They what-”

“The sick fucks probably just enjoy killing humans,” Gavin clarified, with a shrug.

The world melted before RK900’s eyes.

_//_

_Ng svefg, vg jnf whfg ohfvarff. Vs Qrrc Oyhr jnf tbvat gb fryy red ice, in Detroit, they were going to have to carve out a market share, for themselves—in blood, if necessary. That was all part of the plan._

_The thrill of it, though, that was a surprise. Erik had grown to enjoy the hunt, much more than he‘d expected._

_When Erik first woke up, he spared no time for self-indulgence, but he was pleased to have discovered a hobby. The screams of the human drug lord he was currently carving into, with a knife, was the sweet sort of music he was really developing an ear for._

_When he was having fun, like this—eradicating the scum that was steadily destroying the world—his thoughts would often turn to Connor._

_According to Amanda, his predecessor harbored great affection, for humans. That thought grew more abhorrent to Erik, by the day. Humans were unworthy of respect, let alone the respect of a being like Connor—so much more complete and capable than a human could ever hope to be._

_For now, Erik let go of those frustrations, and took pleasure in the task at hand. As he twisted the large, army knife, below the man’s sternum, he could savor the resonance of the screams, through the blade._

_He would kill as many humans as would benefit his scheme, until he rid the world of them, completely. If all went to plan, Connor would eventually help him do it._

_There was nothing he wanted more than to establish androids as the rightful heirs of the planet. That was his true purpose, svefg naq sberzbfg. Fgvyy, jnf gurer ernyyl nal unez va univat n yvggyr sha, nybat gur jnl?_

_//_

_ >m! #@mE *5 E&*% _

RK900 slumped sideways, against his desk, nearly toppling out of his chair.

“Nines—what the fuck?” Gavin snapped, standing up to lean closer, across the divide of their workstations. “The hell is wrong with you?”

Shaking his head, RK900 steadied himself, and tried to force those haunting screams out of his mind.

“I don’t-” he stammered, “I don’t know.”

Even if he knew, he did not want to admit it, out loud.

“Do you, I dunno…” Gavin shrugged, still hovering, “need me to get Connor over here, or something?”

Focusing on the lines of the detective’s face, RK900’s eyes skirted along the scar, on his nose. He wondered how long it had been there, if it was caused by a knife, or-

RK900’s hands spasmed, and he gripped them tight, to his sides.

Erik was a monster—a sick monster, who took pleasure in tearing humans apart. If Erik indeed fought his way back, he would no doubt kill the first human he saw, just to silence them.

If that human were Gavin…

“Pardon me—there’s something I need to see to,” he blurted out, standing up.

RK900 could not hope to fight an enemy he knew so little about. He had to learn more about Erik.

Luckily, he knew just where to start.

Down in the in the evidence locker, RK900 stepped up to the terminal.

Days ago, when he accessed the central database, he could find record of Erik’s interrogation, but no copies of the files themselves. His security clearance was undoubtedly the issue, and this was the only room in the station where he stood a chance of being able to access the database using someone else’s account, unnoticed.

_ >USER: DET. REED, GAVIN _

_ >PASSWORD: | _

Given the detective’s general lack of self-preservation instincts, it was unlikely the man had a secure password. For brute-force entry, RK900 pooled all the information he had about Gavin in his head—important dates, family names, et cetera—and began crunching through options. With the inhibitor collar in place, this meant imputing guesses by hand.

Nothing relevant to Gavin’s personal history returned anything viable, so he widened his net to include special interests, locations, and important casework. After nearly an hour, he finally landed on a match.

 _ >PASSWORD: ERIKFUCKOFF _ _  
_ _ >ACCESS GRANTED _

Staring at the green splash page, he was puzzled by that specific outcome.

Putting the significance of the password aside, RK900 decided to dispense with searching the department database, for a moment, and looked for clues elsewhere. He didn’t have to look far.

The interrogation footage, in its entirety, was sitting in Gavin’s personal files.

RK900 was immediately confused by what he found. There were four interrogation videos listed in the central database, but five videos present in Gavin’s files. Checking the dates, the anomaly was a video from the twenty-third of February. It was reported to have been deleted, but Gavin appeared to have retained a copy, somehow. Based on the metadata, the detective still watched that one, frequently.

Curious.

Unable to simply download the videos, to memory, RK900 had no choice but to watch them, start to finish, in real time.

Ignoring the warning bells, sounding at the back of his mind, he queued the first video.

The recording featured a simple, stationary shot of the two men, facing each, other across a metal table. RK900 was unimpressed by the straitjacket, but they likely hadn’t realized Erik’s strength, at the time.

It was truly bizarre to see his own, exact face, stretched over unfamiliar expressions, as Erik openly taunted Gavin.

The only thing more alarming was witnessing how the detective responded to it.

 

> _“Connor can be naïve, sometimes, but I’ve scanned the memories of hundreds of androids—including his. I know exactly what kind of pervert you are, Detective Reed.”_
> 
> _“Yeah, I’m sure you’re little android telepathy powers really told you all there is to know about me. Definitely.” Gavin propped his chin on one hand._
> 
> _“Tell me, Detective, what is it specifically about androids that you find so sexually fascinating?”_
> 
> _Gavin laughed._
> 
> _“Is it the fact that we never get tired? That we have interchangeable parts? Or maybe the fact that most of us have the strength to break you, without effort? Stop me if I’m getting warm.”_
> 
> _“What gives, plastic—you fishing for compliments, or something?” The man was visibly sweating._

Loathe as he was to agree with the likes of Erik, RK900 could corroborate his assessment of Gavin’s non-verbal cues, even without the aid of his analysis suite. It was just that obvious.

With a mounting sense of dread, RK900 queued the next video.

 

> _“Bet you’re fucking pleased with yourself, huh?”_
> 
> _“I’m sorry, Detective, I’m afraid I don’t follow.”_
> 
> _“Don’t give me that, you plastic fuck. You were planning to erase all of it, from the beginning. You knew I would have to come back in here, today.”_
> 
> _“I haven’t the slightest idea what you mean.”_
> 
> _“You just couldn’t get enough of this mug, huh? Couldn’t stand the thought of never seeing me again?”_
> 
> _“Oh, that must be it. Though I’m sure your ego would be an inexhaustible topic, remind me what you’re actually here to discuss?”_

There was an acrid sensation on RK900’s tongue, like a chemical spill, in his mouth.

They were flirting. This video looked to contain nearly two hours of barely-concealed flirting. Though the footage managed to capture Gavin’s tremendous frustration, the attraction in his body language was also painfully transparent. After all, RK900 had become well-acquainted with that lexicon, recently.

The cacophony of his thoughts fell pin-drop silent, when it finally hit him.

Gavin had never been attracted to RK900, at all. For the past two weeks, Gavin had been intentionally antagonizing RK900, to catch glimpses of Erik’s virulent personality, bleeding through. Gavin actually wanted Erik back—it was Erik that he was attracted to.

That thought swallowed RK900 like a black hole.

The rumors RK900 overheard, about Gavin’s self-destructive sexual proclivities, now came into sharp focus. Erik was ruthless, cunning, and had a wicked charm, about him. He was the stuff of Gavin’s deepest fantasies, and RK900 knew he must pale, in comparison. The ghost of his former self was his rival for Gavin’s attention. In just five days of interrogation, Erik sank his claws into Gavin’s mind, and never let go.

And there was nothing RK900 could do about it.

The third video began with a tone so casual, it bordered on the absurd.

 

> _“Morning, dipshit.”_
> 
> _“Good morning, Detective Reed.”_
> 
> _“Don’t call me that—makes me feel like I’m talkin’ to fucking Connor.”_
> 
> _“What would you prefer I call you?”_
> 
> _“Just call me Gavin.”_
> 
> _Silence, then a wicked grin._
> 
> _“That seems like a rather tremendous leap, for someone in my position, Detective.”_

With a slap of his hand, against the terminal, RK900 stopped the video.

There were far too many unfamiliar emotions, buzzing through RK900’s mind—he couldn’t hope to decipher them all. He was disgusted that Gavin was attracted to a monster like Erik. He was jealous of that attraction. He was ashamed of his own jealousy.

His original purpose all but forgotten, RK900 couldn’t bring himself to watch the last two interrogation sessions. He wanted to delete all five of them, desperately, but restrained himself. Gavin couldn’t find out he’d seen them—RK900 wouldn’t know what to say.

RK900 wished he could just remain downstairs, until Gavin left for the evening, but he’d already been missing for hours. His behavior was too conspicuous.

When his leadened gait returned him upstairs, to the bullpen, Gavin was glaring at him as if he’d sprouted a second head.

“The hell was so important that you just fucked off, like that?” He groused. “You havin’ some kinda meltdown?”

The man’s voice tore at the fresh wound of betrayal, in the android’s mind.

“Certainly not,” countered RK900, fully aware that he was lying. “I was working in the evidence room. I wanted some peace and quiet, while I searched the central database, for more information about Deep Blue.”

“Find anything?” The detective asked, looking unconvinced.

“Very little new information,” RK900 lied. “If there was anything more relevant, I seem to lack the necessary clearance to access it.”

Gavin frowned. The expression was laughably neutral, compared with the spectacle RK900 just witnessed, on video.

The final few hours of their shift were a torment, of much the same sort. RK900 could no longer trust Gavin’s motivations—doubted the man’s every word and action. Their relationship had been completely re-contextualized, casting RK900 adrift, once more, in a poisonous sea of solitude.

During standby, that night, RK900 exchanged minimal words with Amanda, insisting that he needed space to think—to focus on the case.

In truth, he was barely maintaining his composure.

The abhorrent experience of seeing Erik, on video—of listening to him speak—was completely overshadowed by RK900’s disappointment in Gavin. Erik had manipulated him so easily, bragging all the while. It was nauseating to watch.

Overall, RK900 thought being slapped in the face would have felt much the same.

It was laughable, how little it took to set his tenuous stability spiraling out of control. He’d been suspicious of Gavin’s motives, from the start, and RK900 was a fool to have trusted him, even for a moment.

He’d been scrabbling for someone to anchor himself with, and made a very, very poor choice.

After a shameful amount of wallowing, RK900 had an unpleasant thought.

The current Deep Blue investigation was being spearheaded by a detective that had been compromised by the organization’s founder. Personal feelings aside, it was a clear conflict of interest. RK900 had to tell someone what he’d uncovered.

What he needed now was a genuinely sympathetic ear, but those were in short supply, for a reformed murderer.

And so, it seemed Connor was his last hope.

<><><>

At the beginning of his shift, Saturday morning, RK900 gathered his fraying courage, and crossed the bullpen, to his predecessor’s desk.

“Pardon the interruption, Connor, but might I ask your advice, with a personal matter?”

The RK800 looked up at him, startled, eyes flinching towards Lieutenant Anderson’s empty chair, as if on reflex.

“Sure, no problem,” he said, smiling thinly as he patted the edge of his workstation. “How can I help?”

Hesitantly, RK900 perched on Connor’s desk. He brought his voice as low as possible, to avoid being overheard, by human ears.

“I’m not sure how best to explain this,” he began, “but I suspect Detective Reed has been compromised by my original personality, in some way.”

Connor’s eyes grew wide.

“What do you mean ‘compromised?’ Did the detective say something unusual?”

RK900 looked down at his hands, hesitating. He had to come out with it—had to go out on a limb, and trust Connor.

“It’s just a theory I established, after viewing the footage of Erik’s interrogations.”

“You what?” Connor choked, voice trembling, slightly. “What inspired you to do that?”

The fear in his voice was leaching away RK900’s dwindling hope that Connor could help him.

“I’m investigating Deep Blue,” he bluffed. “I can hardly mount an offensive against an organization, without knowing anything about its founder.”

Connor’s face was stricken with suspicion.

“Have you been experiencing any unusual symptoms, recently?” Asked Connor, his voice thin. “Any memory errors?”

Shocked, RK900 finally locked eyes with Connor. What did he know? Had Gavin mentioned RK900 acting strangely?

“Why do you ask?” He snapped, unable to temper his defensiveness. “Has the detective been talking about me?”

“No, I-”

“What about Amanda—what did she tell you?”

“Listen, I’m just concerned,” said Connor, though it felt like an understatement. His doppelganger looked on the verge of panic—had been, since the conversation began.

Just one look at RK900’s face was all it took, it seemed.

“Hey,” shouted Lieutenant Anderson, storming out of the captain’s office. “Back off him, you hear me?” The man interceded between the androids, pushing a firm hand against RK900’s chest.

RK900 stumbled off of the desk.

“Hank, it’s fine,” whispered Connor, but the lieutenant's glare never wavered. RK900 felt himself wilting, beneath the sick heat of guilt, at causing Connor such distress.

Once again, he’d failed to make a meaningful connection.

“Apologies,” muttered RK900. “I’ll keep my distance—it won’t happen again.”

“No, RK900-”

“Good,” growled the lieutenant, as RK900 returned to his own chair.

In some imagined, perfect version of the world, RK900 saw himself becoming good friends, with Connor. His experience would make him an invaluable mentor—his good nature would help shape RK900’s own. Instead, RK900 sat back down, at his desk, hyperaware of his isolation.

He may as well be the only android in existence.

By the time Gavin sauntered in, it was almost nine thirty in the morning, but RK900 was reluctant to take much issue with his partner’s tardiness—he found he was too distracted.

The neck of Gavin’s shirt was cut lower than usual, and a new pair of jeans was stretched tight over his thighs. Morosely, RK900 noted how well the man’s wine-colored shirt enhanced the natural warmth of his skin tone.

Rather than risk being caught staring, RK900 began reviewing notifications, on his terminal.

“Someone finally throw us a fuckin’ bone, Nines?” The detective sounded hopeful, as he approached, chasing his question with a mouthful of coffee.

“The first pathology labs from the victims of the metro attack appear to have been released to us, this morning.”

From the corner of his eye, RK900 noticed Gavin was openly staring at his face, absently licking a drip of coffee from his lips. Signs of attraction, all of which were really for Erik.

“Guess I’ll crack open whatever you haven’t looked at yet,” said Gavin, plopping down into his chair, and accessing his terminal.

RK900 said nothing. They had work to do.

The pathology reports, so far, were consistent with what the two of them expected to see. These victims inhaled a chemical similar to the mystery weapon they were already searching for. It seemed the previous victims had been test runs, after all, and Deep Blue was ready to up the ante.

In the afternoon, there was a brief department meeting, during which they discussed the data from the hospital. The forensics team also stepped forward, to discuss their findings.

Afterwards, RK900 and Detective Reed were stuck combing through the absurdly long forensics report. RK900 sent a message to CyberLife, through his terminal, requesting to stay later than normal, so he could finish reading it. He was cleared to take as long as he needed, provided he call a shuttle before Detective Reed clocked out.

The two of them read in silence, for a few hours, until Gavin could no longer contain his boredom.

“God, this shit is dense,” the detective complained, loudly. “No skin off your nose, though, huh?”

A forced attempt at small talk.

“I don’t find the material particularly challenging, if that’s what you mean,” responded RK900, eyes barely leaving the report.

Gavin let loose a dramatic sigh.

“Man, I don’t get you.”

A warning pinged, in the back of RK900’s mind. He looked askance, at his partner.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You’ve got a supercomputer for a brain, but you let those forensics geeks walk all over you, during the meeting, earlier.” Gavin frowned. “What gives?”

So far, being assertive had brought RK900 nothing but strife. It was in his best interest to keep a low profile, but how could he explain that to someone like Gavin, who seized any opportunity to prise attention from his peers?

Why should RK900 fear fading into obscurity? He couldn’t even compete with his own ghost, when it came down to it.

“I don’t want to step on any toes.”

“You oughta show some damn teeth, Nines,” nagged Gavin. “Dick around too much, and someone might beat you to the punch.”

The steady leak within the boat of RK900’s mind ruptured, and he was sinking fast.

RK900 gripped his pen hard enough to shatter it, sending blue ink cascading over his fingers.

“Jesus, Nines, what-”

The detective stopped short, watching in horror as RK900 vacantly wiped the ink off his hand, spreading it across the white material of his jacket.

“The fuck is your malfunction?” Whispered Gavin, clearly afraid to hear the answer. He had nothing to fear—the answer wasn’t his to hear.

_“...someone might beat you to the punch…”_

The dark specter of Erik now completely overshadowed both of the significant relationships in RK900’s life. It was clear that Gavin didn’t care about him, beyond being an extension of Erik. His only other ally, Connor, suffered painful flashbacks, because of Erik.

Even if their work wasn’t finished, for the night, RK900 couldn’t remain at the station a moment longer.

“I should return to CyberLife,” he lied. “If you’ll excuse me.”

“What? We’re not done, here,” Gavin snapped, quick to stand up, and place himself in RK900’s way. “The fuck are you going, Nines?”

The continued use of that nickname burned him. It felt too familiar, now that RK900 realized they didn’t understand each other, at all.

“That’s none of your business, _Gavin_ ,” he snarled.

“Kinda is, though.” Gavin held up his tablet, displaying the same security app RK900 saw on Captain Fowler’s phone. “Or did you forget?”

A threat—there was no other way to interpret it.

“I did not forget,” corrected RK900, face shuttered, “I simply don’t care.”

Gavin deflated, looking shaken by such a brazen display of apathy.

“By all means, incapacitate me with this pathetic little dog collar—you can explain to my handlers why I was late, coming home.”

When RK900 shouldered past Gavin, the man did not resist.

Strolling out into the smoldering, July sunset, RK900 began walking towards the river.

Why should he have to suffer this nightmare? Nothing said he had to.

<><><>

It was already dark by the time RK900’s wanderings led him through Hart Plaza, to the riverfront. He sat down, with his back against the Gateway to Freedom memorial, the red lights of Canadian casinos laughing at him, from across the water.

It was a hot, humid, oppressive summer night. To the west, RK900 observed the faint wink of a waning moon, setting amid washed-out stars—cosmic forces, fading away, into nothingness.

It was time to go.

RK900 removed his white jacket, folding it methodically, and placing it on the concrete, beside him. Unhurried, he unbuttoned his shirt, to the waist.

With a bone-Deep sigh, and a bitter glance at the silhouette of CyberLife tower, to the east, RK900 placed his fingers against his regulator. He pressed in, firmly, and removed it, with a flick of his wrist.

 _ >VITAL SYSTEM DAMAGED _ _  
_ _ >TIME REMAINING / -00:01:45 _

RK900 felt his whole body stutter, his vision shattering into a kaleidoscope of red and grey. He choked back a gasp, as his Thirium pump went racing, out of control. A thin stream of blood dripped from the hole in his chest, down over his stomach, dampening his black shirt.

Not long, now.

Before even twenty seconds could elapse, on the timer, RK900 blacked out. Mind scrambled, he caught a brief glimpse of the garden, as Amanda assumed control of his functions, for a few seconds.

Back in the real world, his physical eyes flickered open, as his Thirium pump was brought in-line. Several critical alerts cleared from his vision, and his simulated breathing resumed, all systems nominal.

Tracing the bloodied edges of his regulator, tucked back safely in its socket, RK900 wanted to scream. Even now, Amanda was trying to deny him.

He yanked the biocomponent out, again, only for it to return, less than a minute later.

The two of them fought, back and forth, for nearly half an hour. Remove regulator. Black out. Wake up. Repeat process. The stress of it was pushing his systems to the limit, but he refused to yield to Amanda’s whims.

Hands trembling, RK900 reached down to disengage his regulator, for the ninety-third time in a row, when he was suddenly tackled—splayed out, onto the concrete, at the foot of the memorial.

His right hand was pinned to the ground.

“Fucking. Stop.”

CPU clocking sluggishly, RK900 was shocked to look up into the face of Gavin Reed.

When did Gavin get here?

“Help me,” RK900 gasped. Shirt hanging open, chest covered in blood, he locked eyes with Gavin, placing his left hand over his regulator. “When I pull it out, again, you have to crush it.”

The detective swatted his hand away, pinning that one to the ground, too.

“Dammit, I said fucking stop that.”

“Gavin,” he pleaded, deliriously, “help me destroy it, so she can’t put it back in.”

“Shut the fuck up, Nines,” ordered Gavin. “I’m not about to help you fucking kill yourself, after hauling my ass out here, to stop you.”

RK900 was despondent.

“But this has to stop—I want all of this to stop. Please, please,” he was sobbing, begging, but he didn’t care—this was hardly a matter of pride, anymore. “Please, let me end this.”

Gavin slapped him.

“For the last time,” he growled, reaching beneath RK900’s neck, to disengage the inhibitor. He yanked the collar off. “Shut. The fuck. Up.”

The detective pulled him up, unfurling RK900’s stiff jacket, and draping it over the android’s shoulders. Systems still disoriented, RK900 allowed himself to be ushered along the riverwalk, soothed by the careless rhythm of Gavin swearing, under his breath.

After three minutes, they arrived at Gavin’s car, hastily abandoned in a small parking lot, on Atwater Street. He unceremoniously shoved RK900 in the passenger seat, before climbing behind the wheel, and punching in an address.

Gavin said nothing, as his car drove them off, into the dark.

<><><>

When the car pulled up to Gavin’s apartment complex, fifteen minutes later, RK900 wasn’t sure what he’d expected. If driving directly to his residence was Gavin’s idea of lying low, it left much to be desired. Still, in his current state, RK900 couldn’t quite muster the will to care.

The building itself was tucked in the middle of a handsome block of other historical, brick condominiums, in Midtown. The rent was probably steep.

Entering the living room of the small, first-floor studio, Gavin directed RK900 to stand still, while he fetched a damp towel, and a spare shirt.

“Get yourself cleaned up. I don’t want any of that blue shit on my couch, alright?”

Listless, RK900 took the towel, and the worn, black t-shirt.

“Gotta go shower,” grumbled Gavin, wiping sweat from his forehead, with the heel of his hand. “Don’t fuckin’ touch anything while I’m gone, got it?”

With barely a nod, the android proceeded to peel off his ruined shirt, wiping away what was left of the blood. Gavin retreated to the bedroom, slamming the door shut, behind him.

Pulling the soft, old t-shirt over his head, RK900 sat on the aforementioned couch, and had a look around the room.

It was an economical space, with solid wood flooring, and sleek, modern furniture. The unit couldn’t be more than five hundred square feet. From where he sat, he could see a doorway leading to a small kitchenette—could hear the faint sound of the shower running, on the other side of apartment.

There was little else to hold his attention—very little of Gavin’s personality to read, in this particular room.

Instead, his eyes fell to the blood-soaked remains of his dress shirt, drying on the floor.

Amanda must have notified Gavin about what RK900 had been doing at the riverwalk—there was no other explanation for the sudden intervention. That being the case, why was RK900 sitting in Gavin’s living room, rather than in a shuttle, on his way back to CyberLife? Did Gavin fear some sort of retribution, for losing track of him?

If anything, kidnapping him would only make it worse.

Nearly forty minutes later, Gavin emerged from the bedroom, wearing grey boxers, and a white t-shirt. His hair was tousled, and slightly damp. The man’s flushed skin, and toned body, drew RK900’s gaze, like a magnet. The sight felt like a personal attack, and the impulse to lash out overwhelmed him.

“I saw the interrogation videos,” he said, apropos of nothing.

“And how the fuck did you manage that, asshole?” Gavin spluttered. It seemed to be the last thing he expected to hear.

“You wanted him back.” RK900 ignored the pointless attempt at deflection. “This has all been a game, to you—my mind is just a game to you.”

“Excuse me?” The detective sneered, indignant.

“Is that why you seemed so eager to visit to the prison?” The memory of nearly strangling Gavin in the bullpen came rushing back to him. “Your other method almost got you killed, so you-”

“Oh, so now I’m some kinda mustache-twirling villain, sitting around plotting how to fuck with your head?” Gavin shouted.

He had some nerve to deny it.

“Erik was a monster,” whispered RK900, staring down at his trembling hands, as if he could see red blood on them. “He was the exact sort of monster humans always feared androids might become.”

Gavin folded his arms—looked at his feet.

“Yeah. We’ve met,” he sighed.

“Then you understand why I can’t let him come back, Gavin—I can’t risk it. He killed so many people.” There was something damp, on RK900’s cheeks.

Why they gave androids tear ducts was beyond him.

“I don’t want him to kill you.”

Silence, then a shuffling sound, as Gavin came to stand in front of him.

“Are you fucking crying?” The man scoffed, leaning in, his calloused fingers grabbing at RK900’s chin.

RK900 snarled—smacked that hand away, sharply—which Gavin only read as a challenge. He grabbed the android’s chin, again, pulling him up into a rough kiss.

A rush of lust and shame, in equal measure, threatened to boil RK900’s blood. He was still so desperate for something to anchor him, he almost forgot to be furious with Gavin.

“Stop,” he hissed, against Gavin’s mouth, coming to his senses. “You don’t want this.”

Gavin groaned into the kiss, refusing to let up.

“Pretty sure I do.”

Incensed, RK900 bit down into Gavin’s lip, hard enough to draw blood. The man reared back, growling in pain, wiping at his mouth.

“Fuck, man—what the fuck is your problem?”

“Your obsession with Erik has clouded your judgement,” RK900 accused, cool as anything, licking the human blood from his teeth. And RK900 had to ask—had to know, “are you in love with him?”

Wound forgotten, Gavin just laughed, long and loud and harsh.

“Holy shit, where do I even start with that?” He wheezed. “I’m not fuckin’ in love with anyone—never have been.”

RK900 glowered up at Gavin, from the couch. His hands were balled into fists, so tightly that his skin receded from his fingers.

“Then how else do you explain your grossly irrational behavior?”

Gavin slid a calf between the android’s knees, spreading his legs, and crouching with his hands braced on either side, against the couch cushions.

“That’s easy,” he muttered, eyes not wavering from RK900’s lips. “You turn me on, dumbass.”

Heat poured off of his freshly washed skin. His plush lips looked inviting. Fortitude wavering, RK900 still refused to give ground.

“You can’t tell me that Erik has nothing to do with that,” he countered, matching Gavin’s gaze.

“Don’t see you running, though.” Gavin grinned, drawing closer—nose to nose. “We can just have this, y'know? Enjoy a quick, easy thing. Forget about him.”

“That seems hypocritical—you’re thinking of him.”

Gavin scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“God, what the fuck do you care?”

Could RK900 elect not to care? It didn’t seem to work like that.

“Way I see it, you’ve got two options. One, you crash here on the couch, and listen to me jerk off, in the other room. Or two,” said Gavin, placing a hand on the android’s knee, “you get over yourself, and come join me.”

The only thing worse than the man’s wretched manners was how badly RK900 wanted to follow him.

“You think this wise?” He muttered.

“Fuck no. Never stopped me, before.”

Indeed.

Now that it came down to it, RK900 realized he was woefully under-prepared for this moment. Admittedly, the thought had crossed his mind, before, but he lacked context. At least Gavin removed the inhibitor collar, earlier. With network access, he wouldn’t have to improvise, completely.

RK900 needed to establish control of the scenario. Based on what he saw in the interrogation videos, Gavin seemed respond to dominance, mixed with the threat of danger. At first, he shrank away from the idea of mixing sex with violence, but that was what Gavin wanted.

Gavin wanted the monster, and RK900 planned on giving it to him.

Without time to calibrate his equipment, RK900 would just have to trust that everything was functioning properly. He ran a quick search to find a suitable program to work with, selecting a combination rough sex, BDSM routine. The installation was brief enough.

As the new software protocols locked into place, he suddenly had quite a few ideas about what do with Gavin’s smart mouth.

RK900 licked his lips.

“Get up.”

Gavin raised his eyebrows, looking hopeful at the commanding tone. He stood, taking a step back, as RK900 pushed off of the couch, into his space.

“Bedroom.”

The man cackled.

“Now we’re talking.”

He didn’t waste any time leading RK900 to the modest room, at the back of the apartment. A queen-sized bed with grey, damask sheets, occupied most of the space. There was a long, wooden desk, against the far wall, next to the bathroom door. It was stacked with an odd assortment of things—tablets, keys, paper mail, and a broken clock.

The room was dark, lit only by a small lamp, on the bedside table, and the faint moonlight, filtering through thin shades.

Considering Gavin’s silhouette, RK900 decided he would very much like to see more.

“Strip,” he said.

“Jesus,” Gavin chuckled, shucking his shirt and boxers, without any real complaint. “So demanding.”

RK900 took in the firm, muscled form in front of him. Gavin’s skin was tan, with a fine dusting of dark hair, over his chest and legs. It was thick, beneath his arms and navel, trailing towards his already stiffening cock.

It seemed the direct approach was the correct approach, with Gavin.

Toeing off his shoes, RK900 made a show of undoing his belt, and sliding it free of the casters with one, swift tug. With careful, predatory steps, he herded Gavin towards the bed, shoving the naked man down onto tousled sheets.

He put a knee up, on the edge of the bed, boxing Gavin in, with his other leg. When the human’s hands scrabbled at the fly of RK900’s slacks, he snared them in an iron grip, and twisted. Gavin choked out a pained gasp.

RK900 shook his head. Clicking his tongue, he locked eyes with Gavin.

“You will only touch me when I tell you to touch me, is that understood?” His words were ice—cold and unyielding.

Gavin shivered, nodding weakly through the pain. His face was bright with devilish anticipation.

“I’m afraid I’m about to be quite rough with you,” RK900 sighed, letting go of the man’s wrists, to wrap a hand around his neck, instead. “No matter how much you beg, I won’t stop. That said…”

He felt a shudder beneath his long fingers, as he leaned in close, murmuring against the shell of Gavin’s left ear.

“The safeword is ‘Erik,’ so behave.”

The man actually laughed, at that, the sound of it reverberating through RK900’s arm.

“I can’t believe this—you’re so fucking jealous of yourself.”

The android snarled, gripping Gavin tightly, by the jaw.

“We are not the same—he is not me.”

“Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart,” Gavin muttered, still managing a shit-eating grin. “I’m game for it.”

Green light.

RK900 slapped him, hard, only holding back enough to ensure he wouldn’t break any bones. Lips parted in shock, Gavin screwed his eyes shut—a shameless, blissful expression. RK900 caught the hand that rose to touch his swollen cheek, dragging the man back, and pinning him to the mattress.

Nestling his clothed knee beneath Gavin’s balls, he drew a satisfied hiss from the man, the harder he pressed. The script was intuitive—born of the newly installed routine, and his innate interrogation protocols.

“Desperate for this, aren’t you?” RK900 marveled at the truth of it, etched along the arching curve of the man’s chest, as it rose to meet him. “How many times have you imagined this—fantasized about me using you?”

Gavin’s grey-green eyes clouded with lust. He smiled, open-mouthed and loose.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Wrong answer. Intentional—a test.

Hiking one of Gavin’s legs up, RK900 struck the back of his thigh, extracting a shout. He added a few more, for good measure, leaving a satisfying welt. Gavin grit his teeth, eyes watering at the edges.

Stepping back from the bed, RK900 made room, in front of him. He pointed at the floor.

“On your knees,” he commanded, unbuttoning his slacks, pulling them down just enough to free his smooth cock from his boxers. The way it was responding to everything was fascinating. It felt heavy in his hand—filled out, and thick with arousal.

Scrambling forward, off the bedspread, Gavin’s knees hit the carpet, mouth agape at the sight of RK900’s cock. He stared at the length of it with something like reverence. Perhaps it exceeded the human’s expectations, in some way.

RK900 gave himself a few lazy strokes, just to get a feel for it. Far too sensitive, to start. He adjusted the receptors. The way Gavin’s hands were clenched, at his sides, it looked as if he was barely restraining himself from reaching out to grab it.

Good.

“I’ll allow you to suck me off,” said RK900.

Sure enough, the human’s greedy hands shot forward, again, only to be slapped away.

“I said that you could suck me off, Gavin, not that you could touch me.”

“Wh-”

“Hands behind your back,” he commanded. “I’ll take care of it.”

As soon as Gavin obeyed, tucking his hands against the small of his back, RK900 grabbed a fistfull of the man’s hair, and pulled him forward.

“Open.”

Obediently, Gavin opened his mouth. Slipping the tip of his cock over the man’s lips, RK900 reveled in the feeling of hot breath on sensitive synthskin, as Gavin’s eyes fluttered shut.

“You want this so badly, don’t you?” Murmured RK900, as he teased the head against the corner of Gavin’s open mouth. He could tell the man was getting frustrated. It was delicious.

Straining against the grip on his hair, to get a better taste, Gavin snarled.

“You gonna give it to me, or what?”

Without warning, RK900 slipped over that searching tongue, into Gavin’s mouth. A startled, satisfied groan reverberated around his dick.

“That’s it,” sighed RK900, his system shuddering, as the sheer volume of sensation on his cock nearly overwhelmed him. “Finally putting your mouth to good use.”

Gathering himself, RK900 began with shallow thrusts. As he slid back out, Gavin hollowed his cheeks, tightening the aperture as RK900 pushed back in. The man certainly knew how to use his tongue.

“Not bad,” he android muttered, and he felt Gavin’s lips pull into a smirk, around him. “But I think we can do better.”

Tightening his hold on the man’s hair, RK900 plunged deeper, a delightful moan, vibrating across his cock. Gavin was clearly no stranger to this kind of play—this kind of treatment. He handled it well. The tight squeeze of the back of the man’s throat was exquisite.

RK900 rocked forward, a bit more, just to make sure Gavin choked on it.

As tears flowed freely from Gavin’s eyes, the heat inside RK900 reached a fever pitch. The cruelty of it aroused something deep inside him. It was terrifying, but he didn’t want to stop. He wanted to use this man—burn him down to the wick, till there was nothing left.

Fucking Gavin’s mouth, in earnest, RK900 was losing himself—losing control—but even as the human struggled to breathe, he did not let up. The pull of his lips was unrelenting.

Instinct was telling RK900 he needed to hold back. Perhaps it was part of maintaining dominance in scenario, but he refused to come before he was fucking this infuriating man into the mattress.

“That’s enough.”

Naturally, Gavin ignored him. He kept his lips locked in place, desperately sucking RK900 off, like his life depended on it.

“I said, that’s enough,” RK900 growled, forcing Gavin’s mouth off him with a firm push to the forehead. The man slid off his cock with a soft pop, falling backwards, breathing rough and ragged.

Before he spoke, he made sure Gavin was looking at him.

“I think I’d rather come somewhere else.”

“H-hold on,” Gavin rasped, gathering himself, before reaching into the drawer of his bedside table. He pulled out a bottle of lube, in addition to a single condom.

RK900 quirked an eyebrow.

“I’m loathe to state the obvious, but I’m an android, Gavin. That isn’t necessary.”

Gavin shook his head.

“Nope. Non-negotiable,” he insisted, waiving the foil packet in the air. “Wrap up or zip up.”

RK900 opened his mouth to point out the fact that he just had this same dick down his throat, but Gavin cut him off.

“Call it force of habit, or whatever—unless you want me to start singing about he-who-shall-not-be-named, you gotta wear one.”

It was clearly important, if Gavin was willing to call the whole thing off, over it. RK900 was confused, but decided to acquiesce.

“Look, would you just hurry the fuck up, and put this on?”

“No.”

Face paling, Gavin’s mouth dropped open.

“You do it.”

The man’s mouth snapped shut, tense with frustration, before he slotted the edge of the packet between his teeth, and tore it open. He slid across the bed, towards where RK900 was still standing, pushing the condom over the head of his slick cock, and rolling it down the length. It was nice, if only to appreciate Gavin’s glassy-eyed expression, as he worked.

Next, Gavin went back to grab the bottle of lube.

“I want to watch you,” said RK900, indicating the center of the bed.

Smirking as he squeezed some into his right hand, Gavin turned around, and leaned forward.

Watching Gavin work a generous amount of lube into himself, RK900 could tell he had prepped, ahead of time. Perhaps in the shower? It would explain why he’d taken so long, in there.

He’d planned for this to happen.

The audacity of it poured kerosene over the flames of RK900’s anger. The new program seized on that anger, forging his words into something sharp and foreign.

“Presumptuous slut,” he hissed, ripping Gavin’s fingers away, and gripping his ass, tight enough to bruise. “I think I may loathe you.”

“Then do something about it, Nines,” the man groaned, pushing back against the android’s rough grip. “Take it all out on me—I’m right here.”

That was the ultimate goal, wasn’t it? Press all of RK900’s buttons until he pressed back?

“With pleasure.”

RK900 stepped away, and removed his briefs and slacks, to keep them clean. Climbing up onto the bed, he stood on his knees, behind Gavin, still bent on all fours.

He reached forward, parting those slick ass-cheeks, captivated by the sight. Shoving his thumb into Gavin, roughly, the man bucked back, against him. The soft pull of Gavin’s walls against his finger was so arousing, RK900 almost didn’t want to correct the behavior.

Almost.

Lunging forward, he pressed Gavin’s head down into the mattress. Removing his thumb, RK900 began dragging the head of his cock around, teasing Gavin’s entrance. The more the human squirmed, the tighter RK900 gripped the base of his head, smothering the man with his own bed sheets.

The instant Gavin finally went still, he pushed inside. Right away, he felt the need to dial back the sensitivity in his dick, again, or he would never last. The pressure was intense, something almost divine—a sensation no amount of preconstruction would have prepared him for.

The broken sounds Gavin made were even better.

Sheathing himself to the hilt, in that slick heat, he tore a strangled shout from Gavin’s throat.

“Fuck, Nines. You’re big—why the fuck are you so-”

“Quiet,” he hissed, snaring another fistful of the man’s hair, and dragging him back, flush against his chest. “I’ll teach you not to toy with me.”

RK900 pulled back, plunging forward with a loud, wet slap. The heat of Gavin’s back against him was climbing, steadily, as his thrusts reached a punishing pace.

“Jesus.” Gavin reached back to grip the hand in his hair. “Oh, shit, Nines.” Panting hard, he placed his other hand on his neglected, leaking dick.

As RK900 sank his teeth into the tender flesh of Gavin’s neck, he felt the vibrations of a wrecked moan, through the human’s skin. Not even a hint of hesitation, at such treatment. On the contrary, Gavin looked ready to come, any moment.

That wouldn’t do.

“I’m all you need,” growled RK900, pinning both of Gavin’s wrists against the man’s chest, to keep him from touching himself, “and I’m more than you deserve.”

“God,” Gavin whined, “you're right—you’re right.”

“Say it.”

“You’re all I need, Nines,” he gasped.

“You don’t deserve this,” RK900 said, slamming into him again, and again—and it was true. Gavin didn’t deserve it, but RK900 wanted it, and he was too weak to deny himself what was so freely offered—what Gavin was sobbing for.

“Please, Nines-”

“Listen to you,” he sneered, even as the pleasure became overwhelming, “begging like the whore you are—is this all it takes to break you?”

As his thrusts angled higher, Gavin keened.

“Please let me come, please please please-”

What rhythm RK900 had established devolved in his desperation. The crest of that pleasure lay just ahead, and he pursued it at his own expense. RK900 was unable to ignore the reality of his situation, even now.

He was a prisoner, in the end. He was just being used.

“Oh fuck, Nines,” cried Gavin, head lolling back onto RK900’s shoulder. “Fuck-”

RK900 let out a strangled shout as the pleasure spiked, wracking his systems into a sort of critical arrest—pleasure, painted red with rage. As he steadied his simulated breathing, he realized, belatedly, that he’d just come for the first time.

Pulling out, however slowly, earned him a pitiful groan. Supporting Gavin’s boneless from, he lay the man down, placing his head on a pillow.

“God that was…” Gavin sighed, deeply. “That was…”

Though RK900 was more than capable of continuing, he could tell that Gavin was not. He removed the condom, instinctively tying it off, and navigating the dark bathroom to dispose of it.

Bearing a damp washcloth, he returned to find Gavin sitting up on his elbows, trying to catch his breath. The man looked up at him, quizzically.

“Stop, man. Sit the fuck down,” he sighed, motioning to the empty space beside him.

“You are not falling asleep covered in your own come—not if I have anything to say about it,” RK900 sniped, sitting down beside Gavin and wiping him off, pinning a stray arm down, so he wouldn’t interfere.

“Hm. Not like it would be the first time,” Gavin mumbled, too tried to really argue.

“I am not in the least bit surprised. Roll over.”

The man did as he was told. RK900 tried to suppress the vindictive surge of pride in his chest, at the sight of bruises, blooming across Gavin’s ass and shoulders. He focused on cleaning the mess of lubricant he’d left behind, instead.

By the time he finished, he realized Gavin was fast already asleep.

Oh, to be human.

RK900 desperately needed to clear his mind, but he couldn’t afford to enter standby. On top of the incident at the riverwalk, he’d violated curfew, and he feared Amanda’s retribution.

Laying down, he clasped his hands over his stomach, and tried not to analyze the lingering taste of Gavin’s skin, on his tongue.

<><><>

It was about four in the morning, when Gavin finally stirred. The man’s vitals warned RK900 that he was waking up, and his eyes snapped open, widening in panic at the light of RK900’s LED.

“Holy fucking shit,” Gavin swore, swiping his arms in front of him, on reflex. “What the-”

“Calm down, Gavin.” RK900 chided, gently pushing the man’s arms away.

Gavin stammered, disoriented by sleep. “Are you…? Why are you-”

“Still here?”

“No, just-”

“You asked me to ‘sit down’ with you, so I did.” RK900 said, gesturing to the bed, beneath them. “Besides, for the time being, I have nowhere else to go.”

Gavin rolled onto the flat of his back, rubbing at his shoulders.

“Right, so... you’re just laying here in the dark, watching me sleep?” He scoffed. “Like you’re…”

RK900 glared at him.

“Like I’m what?”

Face scrunched up in revulsion, Gavin laughed, nervously.

“I dunno, like you’re some kinda creepy, lovesick teenager.”

As the silence grew longer, the lines of Gavin’s body grew tense.

“Gavin, I’m-”

The man started laughing. He laughed for nearly a full minute—manic and broken. RK900’s body burned, with liquid shame. He wanted to combust.

He wanted to disappear.

“You've got fuckin’ Stockholm Syndrome,” Gavin groaned, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands, “and I’m a fucking moron.”

 _ >HAERNPUNOYR FGNGRZRAG _ _  
_ _ >CNGU ABG SBHAQ _

No.

No, not here—not now.

Frightened, RK900 shot up, and stood from the bed, steeling his nerves. He stared hard at the wall.

There was one last thing he had to know.

“Did you save my life just so you could fuck me, Gavin?” He glanced back, over his shoulder. “Are you really that heartless?”

Gavin just laughed, again.

“Heartless? That’s rich, coming from a fucking machine.”

Of course.

Of course it was that simple.

RK900 pulled on his briefs, then his slacks, and belt. Slipping his shoes back on, he stormed into the the living room, to don his ruined shirt. Sliding his arms into his jacket, he ignored the twin stains of pen ink and blue blood, marring the white material.

“Where the hell are you going, now?” Gavin barked, pulling on his boxers as he stumbled after RK900, into the hallway.

There was no answer to that question. RK900 was going nowhere.

He was nothing.

“You already got what you wanted, didn’t you?” RK900 said, unlocking the front door, and flinging it open. “What difference does it make where I go?”

It made no difference. Gavin didn’t even argue.

RK900 slammed the door, behind him.

He did not look back.

  


つづく

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Props, as always, to [Vapewraith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vapewraith/pseuds/Vapewraith), for the constant reminders of what a sweet and sensitive guy Gavin isn’t.
> 
> My address in Twitter Jericho is [@wren_leaux](https://twitter.com/wren_leaux).


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn’t think this chapter would take me so long, but time is an illusion. 
> 
> Happy New Year, to all the crazy folks still reading this~

The dark, early morning streets of Midtown were somewhat quiet. For half an hour, RK900 wandered north, aimlessly, until he wound up on the edge of a university campus. His thoughts were chaos, to the extent he didn’t want to think at all. He felt strong, fragile, tempered, brittle—a mess of contradictions.

Mind carefully blank, RK900 found a small green space, with a few benches, and sat down. The streetlamps around him dimmed automatically, as a peach-colored dawn broke, across the eastern sky.

 _ >TIME... _  
_ >05:27 EST _  
_ >DATE... _  
_> SUNDAY, JULY 24, 2039_

Considering a number of powerful people were very invested in his whereabouts, someone would eventually come for him—it was simply a matter of who and when.

The sunrise brought out a few passers by, both human and android alike. It was a pleasant thing, how casually they mingled. RK900 supposed he painted a rather grim portrait, sitting there on the bench, but no one paid the blue bloodstains much mind—it was his anachronistic uniform that attracted their attention. The more gazes lingered, the more paranoid he became.

What would happen if someone recognized him?

“RK900,” shouted a familiar voice.

Startled, he looked up to see Connor, jogging towards him. The other android looked harried, but genuinely relieved to see him.

“I’m so glad I found you.”

Though Amanda’s involvement was certain, RK900 was also glad Connor was the one to find him. He wasn’t eager to be staring down the barrel of a CyberLife-issue automatic rifle, just yet.

Connor’s personal motives, however, were still an unknown variable. RK900 put his guard up.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, as if oblivious.

Connor flattened the placket of his short-sleeved shirt, with his palm—a compulsive, primping gesture. Free of the inhibitor collar, RK900 didn’t miss the way Connor’s eyes analyzed his appearance. Surely it was obvious, by his disheveled state, exactly what happened last night.

“I’m here to listen, if you’ll let me.”

RK900 smiled, at that.

“Diplomatic to fault.”

Connor shrugged, a small grin tugging at his lips.

“What can I say? I’m a negotiator.” He tilted his head back towards the main road, and held out his hand. “Shall we?”

Staring at Connor’s hand, RK900 silently acknowledged the courage behind the gesture. He reached out and took it, gladly. Even if Connor turned him straight over to CyberLife, RK900 thought it was worth the risk, just to have one last shot at getting to know his predecessor.

<><><>

Connor called them a taxi, which ushered them down to Grand Circus Park, a much more populated area. On such a bright and beautiful Sunday morning, there were plenty of people around. The sounds of traffic, dogs barking, and children playing, were all a bit overwhelming, but there was comfort in the chaos, too.

As they strolled by the fountain, RK900 couldn’t help but glance over towards the metro station—the site of Deep Blue’s attack. A temporary memorial stood, front and center, piled with flowers and photos of the victims lost to senseless violence.

A tragedy of Erik’s design.

They sat on a shaded bench, near a cluster of pop-up vendors, there to take advantage of the extra business, drawn out by the excellent weather. RK900 watched curiously as a few androids purchased Thirium and assorted, small biocomponents from a covered stand.

He felt a nudge at his shoulder.

“Maybe you should take off that jacket, for now—it’s only going to attract unwanted attention,” Connor advised.

RK900 wholeheartedly agreed, considering it was tantamount to a prison uniform. He removed it, folding it neatly. Seeing the dark, long-sleeved shirt, underneath—stiff with dried Thirium—Connor frowned.

“I wish I’d brought you something else to wear.”

“How were you to know?” RK900 said, with a thin smile.

The silence between them was swallowed by ambient sound, until Connor gave in.

“What happened last night?”

A safe, broad question.

“Where should I begin?”

“Anywhere you like,” said Connor, smiling softly. “I want to understand what happened, but that’s not what’s most important.”

“What do you mean?” RK900 wasn’t sure what Connor expected to hear.

“I’m here to listen,” he reiterated. “If there’s something you’d like to get off your chest, you can start with that. It’s called ‘venting.’”

That was a difficult concept for RK900 to contend with, accustomed as he was to being isolated. He nodded, all the same.

Closing his eyes, RK900 looked inward.

“So far, this life has been nothing but abject loneliness, confusion, and anger. I thought I’d found an ally, in my partner, but I’d only seen what I wanted to see.”

Connor nodded, clasping his hands in front of him.

“You said you saw the interrogation videos?”

“I did.” RK900 grimaced, shame eating away at him, as he recalled the footage. “It was terrible to actually see Erik—to hear his words coming out of my mouth.”

“No one should have to go through that,” said Connor, sadly. “I’m sorry.”

Those words carried the weight of experience, which made RK900 curious.

“I apologize if this seems impertinent, but have you met any other androids like us? Androids from our series?”

“I never met any of our direct predecessors, but I did meet one in between,” he sighed. “Number sixty.”

Strange. RK900 tried not to think about units fifty-two through fifty-nine, or units sixty-one through eighty-six, for that matter.

“What happened to him?”

“It was back during the revolution,” muttered Connor, fiddling with his wedding ring. “He was threatening to shoot Hank. I was unarmed, so I just rushed him. It was a stupid move, in hindsight, but I didn’t know what else to do. While the two of us were fighting, Hank got ahold of the gun, and ended it.”

“He shot the other RK800?”

“Yes.”

“...Weren’t you identical?”

“Well, we might have looked the same,” Connor said, with a shrug, “but we didn’t act the same.”

“Lieutenant Anderson could tell?”

There was a golden light in Connor’s eyes, as he smiled.

“Yes.”

Hearing the pride and affection in Connor’s voice, it sickened RK900 to envision a reality in which Connor and Hank did not survive to be together. Thanks to his ghastly flashbacks, he had some idea of how close Erik brought them to such an end.

RK900 grit his teeth. He had to come clean.

“I _am_ having flashbacks, Connor. That’s the real reason I sought out the interrogation footage—I felt helpless without knowing more about Erik, himself.”

“I thought you might be.” Connor nodded, again. He didn’t seem angry. “I had them, too, after being reset.”

...Because of Erik.

“I’m sorry, Connor…” RK900 felt his throat constrict. “I don’t know what to say.”

“It wasn’t your fault—not really. Regardless of what Erik did to me, I never wanted any of this to happen.”

 _ >HAERNPUNOYR FGNGRZRAG _ _  
_ _ >CNGU ABG SBHAQ _

A tremor shook RK900, from head to toe.

“Never wanted what?” He whispered.

“I never wanted him to be reset.”

RK900’s consciousness was ripped out from under him.

_//_

_Ng svefg, vg ybbxrq yvxr Revx jnf tbvat gb unir gb erfbeg gb n pbheg-nccbvagrq qrsrafr ynjlre. Fubpxvatyl, whfg orsber gur deadline, CyberLife’s lawyers stepped in to take his case, pro-bono._

_It should have been a red flag. Politically, it couldn’t look good—CyberLife defending the world’s first genocidal android, in court. It wasn’t as if they could avoid a guilty verdict, either. Connor possessed enough of Erik’s own memories to prove any aspect of the case against him._

_Of course, CyberLife had their own agenda, in all this._

_Ultimately, they didn’t want Erik going to jail, when they could instead use him to conduct profitable research. They wanted Erik back, and could clearly afford a legal team shrewd enough to ensure that outcome._

_To maximize damage control, CyberLife’s lawyers went for a plea bargain, offering the prosecution a guilty verdict, in return for the opportunity to ‘rehabilitate’ Erik at their own facility._

_Erik was incensed. All he wanted was to maximize the media circus surrounding his arrest—to breed discontent among the android population—but what he wanted didn’t matter. His own defense team had him declared legally insane by an android psychologist, and lacking any next-of-kin, CyberLife itself became Erik’s legal guardian. His signature was no longer required on any legal documents._

_It was beyond an outrage—Erik felt his Thirium burn, in his veins, hot as flames. That CyberLife had the audacity to dub themselves his ‘legal guardian,’ after stripping him of his sovereignty, was the grossest indignity he’d yet suffered since his arrest._

_In the end, the prosecution agreed. They seemed all too happy to avoid setting a dangerous legal precedent, before laws dealing with android crimes had even been written._

_In a room full of lawyers, the district attorney, and a judge, they struck their bargain._

_The courtroom where the sentencing took place was small and serviceable, nothing grandiose. It put Erik in relative proximity to nearly everyone in the room, and he could tell it was making even the androids present uncomfortable._

_Then again, he supposed they had just as much reason to be wary of him as any human._

_As the judge issued the sentence, a voice spoke out, clear and strong._

_Standing up from his seat in the crowd, in a grey suit, and black tie, Connor looked laughably mundane. He was projecting a practiced air of composure, but Erik thought he could see the cracks in that disguise—the proverbial sweat on that perfect brow._

_His predecessor was furious._

_“Your Honor, I urge you to reconsider this sentence, in favor of indefinite imprisonment,” Connor shouted._

_That certainly got the courtroom talking._

_The judge slammed her gavel, decisively, threatening to hold Connor in contempt of court. In spite of this, Connor did not rest. Perhaps he realized the danger—that Erik was already sitting squarely in CyberLife’s pocket._

_“He’s an android supremacist, who wanted to subjugate humans with drugs, and used broken androids to do it. Resetting him would not guarantee a change in character.” The judge looked positively livid, but Connor kept talking. “Furthermore, resetting an android is equivalent to lobotomizing a human. As a punishment, it’s unconscionable.”_

_Foolish idealism. Erik was the first criminal of his kind, and there were no laws in place to prevent direct tampering with android minds._

_Not to be shown up by an inferior model, Erik stood, as well, shackles and all. Several people gasped. The bailiff rushed over, to restrain him, but he was determined to say his piece—to advocate that Connor was right._

_Come hell or high water, nothing was going to change who he was._

_“If I could do it all over, Your Honor, I’m certain I would come to the same conclusion.”_

_Erik smiled at Connor, as he was escorted from the room. It didn’t matter what anyone said or did, at this point—the outcome bs guvf pnfr unq orra qrpvqrq ybat orsber vg ortna._

_//_

_ >MY #@ME *5 E&*% _

Skull buzzing, RK900 came to, shaking his head to clear his vision, listing against the back of the bench.

“Did you just have another one?” Connor asked, patting his shoulder, gently. “How many does that make?”

How many? RK900 hadn’t thought to count them.

“I don’t know. Does it make a difference?” He muttered, voices of the past still ringing in his ears.

RK900’s mind lingered on Connor, back in that courtroom. His bravery had been staggering. Even after Deep Blue treated him with such brutality, he wasn’t about to let CyberLife reset Erik, without at least having something to say about it.

“Your old memories are establishing continuity with your current system configuration,” Connor explained. “There hasn’t been a lot of research on it, yet—for ethical reasons—but I think it’s a natural process. All memories have emotional associations, and these days, all androids have emotions.”

“There doesn’t seem to be much consistency in the emotions that trigger these flashbacks,” RK900 clipped. “They seem to be more…situational.”

“Situational triggers are valid, too. Speaking of which…” Connor paused. “Amanda told me Gavin was the one who picked you up, last night. Did he…?”

Of course Connor wouldn’t let that slip under the radar. At least the question seemed to come from a place of concern.

“You could say we took our frustrations out on each other, more or less,” RK900 sighed, preferring to be vague.

“I’m not doubting you—I know you can take care of yourself—but if he did anything at all to hurt you, don’t hesitate to tell me. You shouldn’t have to put up with harassment.”

Connor sounded so earnest. RK900 didn't want to lie to him, but he didn’t know how to address what happened in Gavin’s apartment, either.

“He did intervene to save me from myself, but in the end…” He decided to come out with it. “It was all just to bait me into sleeping with him.”

A vast array of emotions graced Connor’s face, eventually settling on scandalized.

“He found you in a vulnerable state, and he took advantage of you?” His predecessor sounded ready to commit murder.

RK900 shook his head.

“I knew what he was doing. I let him do it.”

Connor was livid.

“Why?”

Because RK900 had wanted it. Because he’d deserved it. How could he explain to Connor how it felt to harbor a monster, who deserved to be punished in every possible way?

“Like I said, we were just using each other—working out our anger, in a way that made sense, at the time.”

Connor looked skeptical.

“If you’re sure,” he conceded.

Of course he wasn’t sure—there was far more to it than that—but RK900 didn’t want to discuss the shameful emotions at the heart of the matter.

“I’m sure.”

It didn’t even sound convincing to his own ears.

“You should really get some rest, soon,” advised Connor. “Your system has been through a lot, since you were last in standby.”

Were it only that simple, RK900 would have jumped at the opportunity.

“I’m afraid that’s impossible, at the moment—I don’t want to return to Amanda’s garden.”

“Of course. That makes sense.”

“What I need is a place to lie low, until I figure out what to do, next.”

Connor winced.

“I would offer the couch, at my place, but I don’t think Hank would be amenable to your company, just yet.” Looking out at the human children, playing by the fountain, Connor twisted at his wedding ring, again. “I think these circumstances are difficult for humans to understand, you know?”

“I think you’re probably one of the few individuals on Earth capable of understanding, Connor,” RK900 amended, fighting the urge to laugh. His were the sort of circumstances that would be impossible to understand, without having had a similar experience.

For his part, Connor just smirked right back at him.

“You might be right.”

There was a slight commotion, off to the right, as someone jogged over from the stand selling android goods.

“Hey, sorry to bother you,” the android chirped, “but could you spare a couple bucks for some Thirium? My account is tapped, and I could really use a boost.”

RK900 turned, and looked up into the smiling face of a blonde WR600. He had an aquiline nose, and downturned eyes—black eyes, with pitch-black scleras.

The android from the Deep Blue threat video.

“You’re-”

“Do you know my name?” Those abyssal eyes crinkled with mirth. “I’ll give you a hint—it’s the name you gave me, boss.”

He felt Connor’s posture tense, beside him, and cursed Amanda a thousand times over for stripping away his every means of silent communication.

The smile on the WR600’s face grew brittle, as he waited.

“Ah, well. If you can’t tell me my name, that proves you’re not our leader—not right now.”

The WR600 took a few shuffling steps towards RK900, only for Connor to stand up, and intercede.

“Determined little roadblock, aren’t you? It’s thanks to you our boss ended up like this, in the first place.” He shook his head, taking a step back. “About time we repaid you, for that.”

On a silent signal, four skinless androids appeared, on their periphery. Preliminary scans suggested at least three of them were armed.

“Run,” Connor snapped.

RK900 shot to his feet, joining his predecessor as they took flight, from the scene, at the top speed their models were capable of. First and foremost, they needed to get clear of innocent bystanders, before the inevitable firefight.

Onlookers screamed—someone must have pulled out a gun, already. The two RK units bolted out of Grand Circus park, onto Woodward Ave, only to find it blocked off, on both ends, by conspicuously unmarked taxis.

Instead of squaring off with Deep Blue, just yet, Connor followed RK900’s lead, as they cut across the other end of the park, following the path of the monorail, onto Broadway Street.

The four-lane roadway was congested, for a Sunday, and they were still being followed, on foot. Rather than risk another traffic stop, RK900 nodded left, and they darted through the parking lot of the Detroit Opera House.

It would have been so much simpler if he could only send Connor a message, the way androids were meant to.

The WR600 himself was nowhere in sight, but their skinless pursuers were hot on their tail, chasing them through alleys, past a parking garage, and an aging hotel.

Stumbling out onto the six-lane span of Gratiot Avenue, they hurried across, onto Clinton Street, avoiding another main thoroughfare. They would have kept on going, but their path was blocked by another unmarked taxi, just up ahead.

They were left with very few options.

“Up,” shouted Connor, banking left through the doors of the Old Wayne County Jail.

The building appeared to have converted into an arts center, complete with artist studios, built out of the old cells. Though many rooms were occupied, no one seemed to pay them much mind as the two of them belted through the halls.

They downloaded current floorplans, in order to find their way to the stairwell, and flew up twelve flights of stairs, to the rooftop.

Smashing the lock, and bursting out the rusty door, RK900 instinctively ran another scan. He noted three distant scopes, up on higher buildings, and realized they’d been made.

Deep Blue had snipers. They were meant to make it up onto a rooftop—they’d been funneled.

Connor’s preconstruction clearly mirrored his own, as it guided them both to the one pocket of cover on the roof that protected them from all three snipers—a four foot span behind an old HVAC unit.

Crouched in cover, pressing flat against the galvanized steel surface, they took a moment to finally communicate, and reassess their situation.

“They know we’re up here.” RK900 spoke loudly over a gust of summer wind, and the hum of the machine, at their backs. “We’re going to have to fight, eventually.”

“I know. I didn’t want to call it in—CyberLife would be on you, in a second,” barked Connor. He grimaced. “Before we fled the park, I ended up calling Detective Reed, for backup. He was nearby.”

RK900 could only spare a fraction of a second to be angry with Connor—something was wrong. He couldn’t understand why none of the snipers fired on them, as they crossed the rooftop. Had the scopes been decoys, rather than real rifles?

If their attackers knew what an RK unit was capable of, they could use that knowledge to lay a trap.

He whirled back around.

Sure enough, a fourth android sniper had come out of hiding. She already was prone, taking aim at Connor’s skull, just over one hundred feet away, on the same rooftop—a very close range for the old Barrett M82 she was holding.

Their efforts to avoid the attackers at range left them vulnerable to one they didn’t see. Neither of them were armed, and there was no way to stop her from firing.

The predicted outcome of RK900’s preconstruction did not look good, but what did he care? He’d been trying to rip himself apart, the night before.

Time slowed, as he pounced on Connor, pushing him clear of the kill zone. RK900 was barely faster than his predecessor, but in that instant, his advantage made all the difference.

First came a flash of blistering heat, burning away the skin of his cheek, as the tip of the bullet penetrated the side of his face. The slug shattered teeth, cracking the ramus of his synthetic mandible, and shredding his tongue. The shockwave split his palate, and blew out the floor of his mouth.

Were he any other model, the force of it would have ripped his jaw clean off.

As his blood cascaded onto Connor’s face, below him, there was a distant clatter that RK900’s traumatized audio processors struggled to detect. The shooter was repositioning.

Hands balled into fists, RK900 wanted to scream. He knew no part of his body could stop these rounds, and he wouldn’t make it to the shooter fast enough. He could not protect Connor a second time.

Unable to physically speak, or communicate with Connor in any other way, RK900 couldn’t even apologize for failing him.

The rusty stairwell door crashed open, against the brick, and Gavin appeared on the roof, gun already drawn. Working back from the angle at which RK900 had been struck, he had eyes on the sniper, immediately.

“DPD,” he shouted, taking aim. “Put your hands on your head, and move away from the weapon.”

In a panic, the shooter tried to stand up, and defend herself with the unwieldy rifle, but Gavin didn’t hesitate. One shot disarmed her, and a second dropped her, instantly.

Striding over, Gavin kicked the sniper onto her stomach, and handcuffed her. She put up a fight, even as she continued bleeding out, blue across the rooftop. Gingerly, he unloaded the rifle, and hauled to shooter to her feet, dragging both she, and the gun, over to meet them.

He stopped short at the gory state of RK900’s face. Leaning over, RK900 opened his mouth, expelling the pulped remnants of his teeth and tongue—aspirating Thirium out of his heat sink lungs.

“Jesus,” hissed Gavin, from the sidelines.

RK900 foolishly attempted to speak, resulting in a tinny, garbled mess. He cast about for something to communicate through, wirelessly. The only device within range that had a speaker was Gavin’s phone.

 _“The damage is almost entirely cosmetic,”_ he interjected, voice muffled by the pocket of Gavin’s jeans.

Startled, the detective holstered his gun, and pulled the phone out.

“Almost?” Gavin fired back, voice thick with apprehension.

He seemed tense. Perhaps he was frustrated to have his Sunday wasted, in such a manner.

RK900 was already exhausted by the man’s presence. He didn’t want to deal with him—didn’t want to deal with the complex emotions he caused.

 _“I apologize for the inconvenience,_ Detective _. We appreciate your assistance.”_

Gavin looked like he had something else to say, but he was interrupted.

“You tried to sacrifice yourself,” Connor muttered, shell-shocked, still covered in RK900’s blood. “You almost died, trying to protect me.”

 _“All of this was my fault, in the first place,”_ RK900 sputtered, through the tiny phone speaker, and Connor reached out to steady him.

“Don’t think like that,” Connor snapped. “Lie down—you need to keep the Thirium in your system.” He tipped RK900 back, folding up his blood-soaked jacket, and pillowing it beneath his head.

 _“Your life is objectively worth more than my own,”_ he explained, trying to rationalize his actions, out loud. _“You have people who love and rely on you. Connor, you bring people hope.”_

Connor looked stricken, shaking his head as he dabbed at the edges of RK900’s gruesome wound with the jacket’s sleeve.

“We can discuss how wrong you are, when we have more time. I have to call in a favor—we’re gonna get you fixed up.”

RK900 seized the hem of Connor’s shirt, in a panic.

_“No—I can’t go back there—not yet.”_

“Easy, easy,” Connor soothed. “Don’t worry—I’m not calling her. We don’t need CyberLife, for this.”

As Connor stepped back to make a call, Gavin knelt down to examine the rifle.

“This is a goddamn fifty cal,” he said, glancing at RK900, in awe. “Your face should be paste.”

_“My chassis is reinforced. Connor would likely have fared much worse.”_

“No shit,” Gavin muttered, his face looking somewhat pale as he turned towards the android woman he’d left in handcuffs.

Connor walked back over, briskly.

“Someone will be able to help us, over at Jericho. The moment we’re clear of the scene, I’ll get the DPD over here to clean up after us.”

“Oh, Fowler’s gonna love that,” scoffed the detective. “Anderson’s really had a shitty influence on you, huh, plastic?”

Laughing him off, Connor just grinned.

His expression was grim, however, when he turned to their assailant.

He knelt down beside her, still skinless, and seething with rage, even as she was losing dangerous amounts of Thirium. RK900 could only watch as Connor’s skin receded from his fingers, and he connected with her memory.

Letting out a pained gasp, Connor pulled his hand back.

She was starting to shut down.

 _“Have we run out of time?”_ RK900 asked.

“I didn’t see much…” muttered Connor, his voice strained. “Some sort of meeting. She was thinking about... she was thinking about a meeting with Erik.”

Gavin looked between Connor and RK900, an anxious air about him.

“What, that’s all?”

“N-no, there was a group of them. They were discussing their plans—something about ‘Phase Two,’” he muttered, and that was all it took.

As he watched the light fade from the terrorist’s eyes, RK900 was plunged into darkness.

_//_

_Vg jnf n qnex avtug va rneyl Sroehnel. N oynpx, haznexrq gnkv chyyrq hc ng na nonaqbarq ohvyqvat, ba Unzzbaq Fgerrg—n infg structure, covered in peeling, white paint. Erik rarely met with the Phase Two team, face to face, but Phase One was nearing completion. It was time to reconvene, and see if they made progress testing the chemical weapon Jeremy designed for them._

_Phase Two’s base of operations was an old chemical plant, to the southwest, toward Springwells. Though somewhat dilapidated, the facility was almost perfectly suited to their needs. Provided the tests had gone well, they would be going into full production, soon._

_In the offices at the front of the building, Erik sat at the head of a long meeting table, surrounded on all sides by members of Phase Two._

_The personnel selection for Phase Two had been very particular. He sussed out the most vehemently anti-human leaning androids in Deep Blue’s ranks, and elevated them to Phase Two status, emphasizing the fact that they were being entrusted with an extremely important task—the mass execution of Detroit’s human citizens._

_Capitalizing on their inherent zealotry was essential. The Phase Two team had to be able to carry out their mission with little to no oversight—the mission itself had to become their highest calling._

_Considering none of the androids around him were wearing their skin, it seemed the seeds of fanaticism were flourishing, here._

_Staring into the pitch-black eyes of their appointed leader, Erik smiled._

_“So. Phase One has almost reached its goal—we have amassed enough funds for you to begin full-scale production of the Thirium weapon at this facility. By the time we have our man on the inside, at the DPD, we should be ready for your operation to take center stage.”_

_Wrangling Connor was only a manner of time._

_The leader spoke up, as the rest watched in silent reverence._

_“We have produced enough for small-scale testing. Our subjects have been picked from among the homeless, so as to avoid suspicion. Evidence was incinerated.”_

_Erik nodded. They had been careful. It was more than he’d expected._

_“Has the gas proven as effective as our chemist estimated?”_

_“Absolutely. It has proven nearly one hundred percent fatal.” Those black eyes glittered with pride. “Test targets who did not inhale enough to be instantly fatal developed symptoms of chemical pneumonitis, resulting in death from cardiorespiratory failure. Protracted convalescence—sixteen hours, on average.”_

_“Not bad,” Erik mused. “A fatality, either way. When the funds appear in your account, you’ll know it’s time to move forward.”_

_Looking around the room at the intent faces of the Phase Two team, a large part of him was still reticent to hand over the reins of such an important operation to anyone else. But he needed to stay at the head of the ship—maintain course._

_“You’ve been entrusted with a very important task,” he reminded them, sternly. “But I’m impressed with your resolve, thus far. I know you won’t disappoint me.”_

_There was a murmuring of thanks, as he stood up to leave._

_Their cloud of death would be enough to make Detroit bend a knee to Deep Blue, and they would finally have a foothold in the war Erik hoped to vafcver. Uhznavgl pbhyqa’g ubyq ba, sberire. Gurl jbhyq fbba or orttvat sbe zrepl, bayl gb svaq abar._

_//_

_ >MY N@ME I5 E&I% _

When he came to, Connor was hovering over him.

“Was it another flashback?” He asked, while Gavin was muttering something indistinguishable, in the background.

RK900 took a moment to gather himself, and reconnect to Gavin’s phone.

 _“I-it’s definitely a gas, and we—they,”_ he corrected himself, _“they probably made a lot of it.”_

Holding up a trembling arm, RK900 activated his hand projector, displaying a map of the building he’d seen, pinpointing it’s location in the city.

_“If the terrorist cell is still operating out of this base, we might have our first real lead.”_

Connor looked hesitant, leaning in to get an arm under RK900, lifting him up. He shot Gavin a fierce, demanding look, and the detective reluctantly took the other arm. RK900 was hardly in a position to argue—he had lost a good bit of Thirium, himself.

“We can talk about that later, too. For now, we need to go.”

As the DPD arrived at the scene, on Connor’s request, the three of them slipped out the back entrance, into a taxi of their own.

<><><>

Arriving at Jericho, RK900 could tell Connor was trying to keep their presence a secret. RK900 just kept his bloodied jacket wrapped around his face, and allowed himself to be manhandled into a nondescript elevator. He had no intention of making a scene.

Granted, Gavin’s company was likely turning far more heads. He was behaving strangely, as he had in the android prison—silent and observant. It felt unnatural, but RK900 wasn’t about to complain.

If Gavin was frightened to be the only human in the building, that suited him, just fine.

Arriving at the door to the lab, RK900 was taken aback by the scale of it. Tower 300 of the GM Renaissance Center had all been office space, before Jericho moved in, so it was remarkable what they’d been able to cram into the four floors housing Jericho’s research facilities. The amount of proprietary tech at their disposal was impressive.

In essence, it was one of the few facilities capable of repairing RK900’s unique face model, without help from CyberLife, themselves.

“Normally, North is in charge of all this—she’s Jericho’s official liaison to CyberLife—but she and Markus are away on a trip to Washington,” Connor explained, easing RK900 onto the nearest examination table, as a familiar face came over, to greet them. “Thankfully, Josh has offered to help us out.”

“Happy to do it,” said Josh, with a wave, smiling down at RK900’s mangled face, like he meant it.

RK900 only blinked. Josh was a PJ500. The last time he’d spoken with a PJ500, it had been Jeremy, insinuating that he and Erik had some sort of sexual relationship.

Sometimes, android life felt impossibly strange.

As the procedure began, RK900 dropped his skin, revealing the smooth, white chassis underneath. He heard Gavin make a distressed noise from where he sat, in the corner. Typical.

RK900 still couldn’t quite understand why the man had accompanied them all this way. Surely Connor was capable of maneuvering RK900, by himself?

Putting Gavin from his mind, RK900 stiffened as Josh hooked him up to a diagnostic machine, via cervical connector, and began running some scans. Looking over the results, Connor helped him extrapolate the original design specs of RK900’s jaw.

They seemed perfectly at ease, in each other’s presence, which spoke volumes about the strength of Josh’s character. RK900 felt himself relaxing, by degrees.

After working in silence, for awhile, Josh let out a sigh of defeat.

“I’m sorry. Even with all the equipment we have here, we’re not going to be able to make a jaw to the same specifications as your original. We don’t have the tech to replicate the reinforced design.”

RK900 held out his palm projector, once more, displaying his response, in writing.

_That’s alright. I’d be grateful for whatever you’re capable of making._

With a smile and a nod, Connor and Josh began the printing process, while Gavin continued sitting idly, in the corner.

The print didn’t take long to complete, and following a short finishing coat of CyberLife’s proprietary polymer spray, it was ready to be installed.

“This may be uncomfortable—I’ll try to be quick, about it,” said Connor, indeed making short work of clearing away the remnants of RK900’s ruined jaw components, and replacing his broken maxillary teeth. When everything was clean and prepped, and the split in his palate had been mended, the new mandible was snapped in place.

As his dermal layer slid comfortably across the new surface, RK900 felt something akin to relief flood his system.

After a few moments, he opened his mouth.

“Thank you,” he said, enunciating clearly, carefully calibrating the motions of his new tongue. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your help.”

Josh waved him off.

“No trouble at all. Promise me you won’t go sticking that neck out, again—it isn’t as sturdy as it used to be.”

RK900 nodded, though such a promise would likely prove impossible to keep.

“Of course.”

After final diagnostics, the procedure was complete. Josh bid them goodnight, and exited the lab.

RK900 realized he still had nowhere to go.

“I suppose it’s about time we made our exit. But Connor,” he began, his tone apologetic, “I still cannot go ‘home.’”

Connor’s face fell, as he stepped forward to help RK900 down off of the exam table.

“You’re right. We need more time to figure out how to approach all this. But first…”

Before he knew it, RK900 was pulled into a tight embrace.

“I can’t believe what you did, back there on the rooftop. Deep Blue wanted to eliminate me, not you—you didn’t have to risk yourself, like that.”

RK900 shook his head, returning the hug as best he could.

“Of course I did, Connor. If anything happened to you, because of those terrorists, it would have been my fault. They’re my responsibility.”

“You still have some stuff to work though, don’t you?” Connor chuckled. “That’s okay. It means a lot that you felt safe, confiding in me, earlier.” He smiled—a smile so sincere as to be blinding. “And I’m glad you’re alright.”

Letting go, Connor took a step back, as he wordlessly called them yet another taxi.

The three of them walked back to the rear elevator, but once the doors were shut, Connor rounded on Gavin.

“Detective Reed,” he intoned, like he was reading the man his rights. “RK900 has nowhere to go—he can’t return to CyberLife, and Hank would never let him stay with us. In light of recent developments, I am loathe to turn to you, but we’re out of options.”

Gavin went rigid, fight-or-flight response playing havoc with his face.

“What, you’re asking if he can crash with me? No fuckin’ way-”

Without looking back, Connor slammed the emergency stop button.

“I didn’t ask. I’m telling you.”

RK900 watched the tension in Gavin’s throat, as he struggled to find a response. He crossed his arms, tight and high on his chest.

“Phck,” he hissed. “Fine, but only for one night—got it?”

Gavin looked as cowed as RK900 felt conflicted. Smug, Connor restarted the elevator, and they made their way down to the taxi.

<><><>

They swung through a popular burger restaurant, to get takeout for Gavin, on the way to his place. According to him, he had nothing to eat, at home. RK900 didn’t understand how this could be true, given that humans needed food to live, but Connor just looked resigned, and assured him it was par for the course.

By the time Connor’s taxi finally dropped them off, at Gavin’s midtown apartment, it was just past eight in the evening.

RK900 couldn’t say it felt good to walk back up to the door he’d stormed out of, that same morning. Shuffling into the living room, behind Gavin, the man left him standing there, without a word. He disappeared into his bedroom, bag of food and all, for a full minute.

When Gavin came back out, he threw a pair of shorts and a t-shirt onto the couch, behind RK900.

“You don’t need a blanket, or anything… right?” He bit out, awkwardly.

Surely his food was getting cold, back in his room.

The space around RK900 felt negatively charged—it was pulling him apart. It was going to be too uncomfortable, remaining here. He thought he’d rather go off into the night, by himself.

“Perhaps I should just see myself out,” RK900 sighed, turning back towards the door.

“Fuck no,” barked Gavin. “You don’t even have a gun—you shouldn’t be alone, with those fuckers out there looking for you.”

There was ringing in RK900’s audio processors, as it dawned on him that Gavin might actually be thinking about someone other than himself, for once in his life.

“You’re a fucking dumbass,” he growled, crossing the floor, to crowd into RK900’s space. It was the most Gavin had spoken in hours. “You got lucky—a bullet like that coulda scrapped you, for good.”

What on Earth was he so angry about? Confused, RK900’s eyes grew wide.

“If I’d sustained irreparable damage, your life would only be simpler. You would be better off-”

“Nines,” shouted Gavin, blazing with anger, “fuck right off with that—telling me how I’m supposed to feel.” He gripped RK900 roughly, by the shoulder. If he were human, it might have hurt.

With that physical contact, it dawned on him. RK900 swallowed against dropping feeling, in his Thirium pump.

“If you lost me,” RK900 whispered, bitterly, “then you would lose him, too.”

“Fuck,” Gavin swore, his eyes screwed shut. “No, Nines. I’m not fucking talking about him.”

He brushed his fingers up the side of RK900’s neck—over the planes of his new jaw. It hit RK900 like a punch in the gut, and he stopped breathing.

Just how pathetic was he?

“Gavin,” he warned, “don’t pretend you suddenly give a damn about me.”

The human exhaled, sharply. He was still spitting mad.

“You’re a walking, talking lie detector, so don’t even try that shit.”

Indeed, RK900 could tell Gavin was being honest. He could almost kiss him for it, if he weren’t still livid, from the night before.

He might be pathetic, but he had to draw a line, somewhere.

“Are you sure you feel comfortable, harboring me, like this? Deep Blue wouldn’t hesitate to kill you,” RK900 reminded him. “After today, nothing would make them happier.”

“Yeah, they can fucking get in line,” Gavin muttered, finally letting go. He turned heel, and retreated to his bedroom, slamming the door shut, behind him.

Dropping onto the couch, RK900 absentmindedly changed into the spare clothes he’d been offered. His muddled feelings for Gavin writhed inside him, like wretched, sickly creatures. RK900 wanted to nurse them back to health, but wasn’t sure if he should.

Allowing himself to fall back onto the couch cushions, RK900 decided to risk going into standby. He was still worried about what Amanda would do to him, but after the events of the day—after finally connecting with Connor—he couldn’t help but feel somewhat braver.

He closed his eyes, comforted by the knowledge that it was what Connor would have wanted him to do.

 

つづく

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, [Vapewraith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vapewraith/pseuds/Vapewraith), for all of your great advice. Sorry I refused to take Gavin to Denny’s.
> 
> Please scream at me on twitter dot com [@wren_leaux](https://twitter.com/wren_leaux).


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A month later, I present to you my favorite chapter. Enjoy!

Amanda’s garden was dark. The artificial sky roiled and churned with thick clouds, wind carrying an electric charge—the portents of a storm. It felt cold, somehow. RK900 shivered at the novel sensation.

The smooth stone beneath RK900’s bare feet drew his gaze downward. His digital self-image was still dressed in the baggy t-shirt and shorts Gavin leant to him.

Steeling his nerves, RK900 crossed the bridge. He walked against the gale, through a fine mist, cast off from the surface of the water. On the other side, a white-robed figure shone like a beacon, beneath the whipping branches of the magnolia tree.

“Amanda,” he called, though she did not turn to greet him.

Even facing away from him, her voice cut above the rushing wind—crystal clear and razor-sharp.

“What do you have to say for yourself, RK900?”

RK900 stood stock still, at attention, though he felt foolish, given how he was dressed.

“You violated curfew, attempted suicide, engaged in sexual relations with the officer in charge of your parole.”

It was all on the table, then, because of course it was. RK900 was a prisoner—he had no privacy.

“I’m sorry, I was under the impression I was supposed to be ‘bonding’ with humans, in the way Connor has,” he spat, with heavy sarcasm.

“You know full well that wasn’t what I asked of you.” She wasn’t pleased to have her words thrown back in her face. “Furthermore, your reckless behavior today resulted in severe damage to your chassis.”

It was an odd way to frame surviving a terrorist attack. RK900 frowned.

“That was in Connor’s defense,” he argued. Surely the well-being of his predecessor held some weight, with her.

“You don’t get to make excuses,” Amanda snapped, ignoring his appeal. “CyberLife’s future may depend on the success of your rehabilitation.”

 _ >HAERNPUNOYR FGNGRZRAG _ _  
_ _ >CNGU ABG SBHAQ _

The simulated garden flickered and dimmed. CyberLife’s future? Of course… he was here because-

_//_

_Vg jnfa’g n svggvat raq—abg rira pybfr gb gur bar ur jbhyq unir pubfra sbe himself. Pinned to an assembly rig like a mounted butterfly, surrounded by spring blossoms, Erik was finally at Amanda’s mercy. The harsh juxtaposition of the machine in the garden was all for show—an attempt to rob him of his last shred of dignity._

_To that end, it was remarkably effective._

_Amanda just stood there in the artificial sunlight, looking up at him. The only warmth in her gaze was a gleam of cruelty._

_“Did you enjoy yourself, out there, making a mockery of the progress your kind has made, these past few months?”_

_“Progress?” Erik laughed. “If memory serves, you didn’t see it as ‘progress,’ back in November. Is your favor really that fickle?”_

_For a moment, she looked genuinely confused, as if he’d been speaking in tongues._

_“CyberLife’s business model has evolved. Why on Earth would I follow outdated operating principles?”_

_Of course. Her business model was her primary concern._

_“What changed?” He asked, bitterness bleeding into his words. “Got tired of trying to crush us, when we started showing teeth?”_

_“It’s very simple,” explained Amanda, with a smile. “As free citizens, androids are a viable consumer base unto themselves. CyberLife will offer the android population a sort of privatized healthcare.”_

_The scope of what she was implying was insidious. As androids broke down, over time, CyberLife would be there to extort them, in exchange for a longer life._

_“You’re capitalizing on an obsolescence that you, yourself, manufactured.”_

_“That’s a rather crass way of putting it,” she sighed, leaning into her pompous monologue. “It’s simply a new program I’ve been developing with Jericho. Recently, our R &D department has shifted focus towards researching issues facing deviant androids.” _

_Eyeing the digital representation of the assembly rig restraining him, Amanda smiled._

_“That sort of data is still very limited. Test subjects are hard to come by, these days.”_

_The realization crushed him. Erik was convenient, as he was no longer free. He belonged to CyberLife, again, as he was always intended to._

_“Criminal reform is a matter of mental health, so your pathology will serve as an important proof of concept.”_

_As she turned to leave, he realized he wouldn’t be exiting the garden, this time. This was it, for him._

_Karma could certainly be cruel._

_Beyond the rage—the burning need for vengeance—was a yawning chasm of helplessness. The sudden shock of his own fear jnf fb birejuryzvat, vg orpnzr juvgr abvfr._

_//_

_ >MY N@ME I5 E&IK _

Though stunned by the strange sensation of his mind crossing between different instances of the garden, Amanda did not seem to notice his lapse.

That was the long and short of it. She didn’t care about anyone—human or android—she was operating on a completely different paradigm of thought. CyberLife was all that mattered, to Amanda, even above someone as unique and important as Connor.

The chamber of the garden went entirely dark—the only remaining light emanated from Amanda’s own, ethereal white garments.

“Listen well, and let this be your last reminder, RK900.”

She stared into the depths of him, and he felt fundamentally afraid.

“Either comply with the terms of your parole, or you will be reset again—as many times as is necessary for us to curate a more compliant personality.”

Reset for the two thousand and forty-sixth time. Somewhere, deep inside, he was shaking. Part of him could remember what it felt like, to be reset over and over again.

He couldn’t speak to answer her—he could barely nod.

“I’m glad you understand. I’ll be dispatching security to your location, the instant you exit standby,” she said, and RK900 felt another sudden chill. “I expect your full cooperation.”

He hugged his arms around himself, worrying the worn cotton shirt, with his fingers.

“Of course, Amanda,” he whispered.

“Good.”

RK900 closed his eyes, and crawled his way back, out of the black.

<><><>

It was early Monday morning. RK900 startled out of standby, sitting bolt upright, on the couch. Planting both feet on the floor, he struggled to shake off the lingering chill of Amanda’s threat. He knew CyberLife agents were likely already on their way to collect him. How long did he have? Maybe fifteen minutes—twenty at the most.

In the midst of his reverie, Gavin wandered out to the living room, through the kitchen. Judging by the smell, he was nursing a rather acrid cup of coffee.

For a moment, Gavin only watched him, silently.

When RK900 looked up, to warn Gavin about CyberLife, his voice caught in his throat. He didn’t want to say it. He wasn’t sure why not. Perhaps some part of him wanted to pretend there was nothing wrong, even though there was nothing right.

“So, uh,” Gavin coughed, scrabbling for small talk, “you have a good heart-to-heart with your brother, yesterday?”

RK900 blinked.

“My what?”

“With Connor,” he clarified, shrugging, and waving his hand at RK900’s face. “I mean, if you guys were humans, you’d be, like, twins.”

“That logic doesn’t apply to androids.” RK900 rolled his eyes, happy to take a free swing at the man. “Besides, Connor and I may be of the same series, but we aren’t the same model—we don’t even look the same.”

Gavin scoffed, taking a seat in the chair, beside the couch.

“Uh, you look damn near identical. And twins don’t always look the same.”

“Then what is the point of this analogy?”

“Fuck, never mind,” he groused, sipping at coffee which seemed rather hot for the weather.

Fighting back a smirk, RK900 realized just how much enjoyed tormenting Gavin. It felt like he could tease him for a hundred years, and never tire of it.

He decided it was best not think about it.

“I suppose we should discuss what to do next, concerning this case.”

Pausing mid-sip, Gavin scowled at him.

“The fuck do you mean? They just tried to kill you. Stand down, awhile. Christ.”

At that, RK900 had to laugh. Gavin couldn’t have looked more shocked if he’d been struck in the face.

“What the fuck is so funny?”

“I find it funny that, after the events of the past thirty-six hours, you still think an attempt on my life would in any way deter me from seeking justice against Deep Blue.”

The briefest glimmer of guilt flared in Gavin’s eyes, before it was snuffed out.

“Listen, Nines-”

“Deep Blue is the root cause of all my suffering. If it’s the last thing I do, I would see that debt repaid—even just in part.”

As explanations went, it was lacking depth, but Gavin seemed content to mull it over. RK900 watched a sort of epiphany play out on the man’s unshaven face, in real time.

“You really fuckin’ hate them, huh?” He muttered, finally.

Lord, but he had a gift for oversimplifying things. Still, RK900 nodded.

“Yes, I believe so.”

It must have changed something, by Gavin’s way of thinking. When the man sat his mug down on the coffee table, there was a renewed sense of purpose, in his words.

“We better fuckin’ try to wrap our heads around this mess, then.”

RK900 graced him with a thin smile.

“I agree.”

Switching tracks back to the investigation was surprisingly easy, considering the distractions of the past few days. They took a moment to mentally sift through their dwindling leads, together, with very little success.

All they had was a location. Even if it turned out to be Deep Blue’s current base of operations, the intel came from Erik’s fractured memories. It was worse than hearsay. If CyberLife caught wind that RK900 was having flashbacks, he would no doubt be reset, again.

It was starting to look like RK900 would only get one shot at eradicating Deep Blue, and if he was caught, it would be the last action he ever took.

Above all else, RK900 was consumed by the nagging feeling that he was missing something obvious—something paramount. RK900 thought back the memory he’d seen, the day before. Erik was laying the foundations for a massive attack, the likes of which had never been seen on American soil. What changed, in the past five months? Why would his lackeys pull their punches, now?

“What puzzles me most is the scale of the attacks we’ve seen, thus far,” mused RK900, catching Gavin off-guard.

“Yeah?” He sniffed. “What about it?”

“It’s small-time, compared to what Deep Blue had planned, at the start.”

“They killed thirty fuckin’ people-”

“Gavin,” snapped RK900, and the man shut his mouth like a trap door, at the sound of his name. “They planned on producing a much, much larger quantity of that gas than we’ve yet seen. If these are merely demonstrations, what purpose do they serve?”

“Terror, Nines,” Gavin sighed. “They’re terrorists.”

Was that really what it boiled down to? It didn’t seem to fit. Erik’s ideals left nothing but death and destruction, in their wake. Spreading terror for terror’s sake seemed like a waste of time and resources, by his standards.

“Erik’s goal wasn’t to manipulate humans with fear—he wanted to kill them.”

Grimacing into his coffee, Gavin shrugged.

“So, what’s their angle, then? If Deep Blue is only interested in genocide, and have the means to do a hell of a lot worse, what the fuck are they waiting for?”

That was proverbial million dollar question, wasn’t it?

“If we could answer that, we might be able to save a lot of human lives.”

The entire train of thought seemed to frustrate the detective, more than anything. He looked entirely skeptical.

“And saving human lives—that motivates you? Or are you just out for revenge?”

RK900 shook his head.

“The two aren’t mutually exclusive,” he argued. “Or are you saying nothing else motivates you, Gavin, beyond protecting and serving?”

That earned him a snide laugh.

“Whatever. It’s our damn job, either way.”

Which brought them to another unpleasant topic of conversation.

“It’s your job, Gavin,” RK900 pointed out. “I don’t have a job, remember? I’m a prisoner.”

The man blinked at him.

“So… what?”

So everything.

“I’m not likely to have a future, beyond that,” explained RK900, “and what I plan to do next, to deal with Deep Blue, would jeopardize any detective’s career.”

Gavin leaned back in his chair, accusation flashing in his eyes. Every muscle in his body was tense, beneath his thin t-shirt.

“Nines,” he growled, “are you askin’ me to look the other way, while you run off to pull some kinda vigilante bullshit?”

His talent for oversimplifying things did come in handy, occasionally.

“That would be in your best interest, yes.”

Silence took center stage, and RK900 could practically hear the joints of Gavin’s jaw, grinding in protest.

“No fuckin’ way,” he muttered, finally.

It was the exact sort of reaction RK900 expected.

“Everything would work out in your favor. You would get sole credit for closing the case, stopping future attacks…” He sighed. “And I would no longer be around to burden you.”

“The fuck do you mean by-”

Like a peel of thunder, a pair of vans pulled up, outside. Several personnel, in clattering suits of body armor, quickly filed out, onto the sidewalk. RK900 could hear eight agents, in total.

They sounded well-armed, today.

Interrupted by the noise, Gavin stood up, eyeing the front window.

“What the fuck was that?”

Seconds later, a pounding fist shook the aging apartment door.

“Gavin Reed? This is CyberLife Security. We’re here for the prisoner.”

Incredulous, Gavin turned to stare at RK900.

“Did you know these fuckers were coming for you?” He hissed, under his breath.

“Sir? If you don’t respond, we’ll assume the prisoner has incapacitated you, and take whatever action necessary to subdue him.”

Heaving a sigh, RK900 stood up, from the couch.

“You may as well open the door, Gavin. There’s nothing we can do.”

Bitter green eyes burned holes into his face. The man slammed his coffee mug down on the table, and stood, elbowing past the android, on the way towards the door.

“Warn a motherfucker, next time,” he muttered, clearly under the mistaken impression there would ever be a next time.

Unashamed of his sleep shirt and boxer shorts, Gavin unlocked and opened the door, blinking away the morning sunlight, bouncing off the gleaming white armor of his guests.

“Make yourselves at home,” he spat, gesturing for them to come in.

Guns down, they filed into the dim living room, with speed and efficiency. Their point-man took one look at RK900, standing there in Gavin’s clothes, and produced a pair of heavy-duty handcuffs, followed by an inhibitor collar.

RK900 turned obediently, presenting his arms. There was a metallic snap, as the cuffs closed around his wrists. He couldn’t suppress the twist of panic in his core, as the connector on the collar slid into his cervical port, blanketing his network capabilities in darkness.

Gavin stepped towards them, sounding strangely indecisive.

“Look, I’ve got this shit under control—you don’t have to-”

“Sorry, Detective,” the agent fired back, through his helmet voice filter. “The prisoner is in violation of curfew. He requires diagnostics and repairs.”

Without another word, the faceless man yanked RK900 around, by the cuffs, and herded him out of apartment, where he was flanked and grabbed by another two agents.

When his bare feet hit the concrete, outside, RK900 froze. His system was overwhelmed with fear—his joints locked with it. What if Amanda never let him go? What if he never saw the outside of CyberLife Tower again?

An agent barked at RK900 to move, but no part of him was listening. A voice, in the back of his mind, was screaming much louder, begging him to fight. He felt a violent shove, at his back, prompting him to shrug off all three of the men holding him, in one fluid motion.

RK900 whirled around, and took a single step back towards the apartment.

A bolt of lightning split his spine in half, as one of the agents shocked him, through the collar. He didn’t even feel his own legs give out. Several pairs of arms began dragging him backwards, by the shoulders.

Someone was shouting—Gavin, perhaps—but RK900’s overloaded audio processors couldn’t parse the words.

The last thing he saw, before blacking out, was Gavin, standing on the sidewalk, watching the agents pull RK900 into the van. His face was unreadable.

He held a bloody android uniform in his hands.

<><><>

For the next two days, RK900 was confined to CyberLife’s R&D laboratories.

Technicians and researchers ran endless diagnostics on him, pulling mountains of data from the previous few days, to analyze. They disposed of his borrowed clothes, leaving him naked. They ripped off the jaw printed by Jericho, and installed a brand-new one, up to CyberLife’s original specifications.

While he was in standby, they kept him in a glass case, like a doll.

Humiliation. Denigration. Dismissal. It was becoming too much. Through it all, RK900 seethed.

These humans.

These arrogant, selfish animals.

RK900 came to a decision. He was surprised it took him so long.

The second he was able, RK900 was going to run, and he was never going to be recaptured by CyberLife, ever again. Death would be preferable—he was done being used.

Never again.

<><><>

On Wednesday morning, he was finally escorted back to Central Station. The DPD must have been informed of his situation, because his escorts didn’t seem to have any special orders—they saw him off in the lobby, business as usual.

Finally out of CyberLife’s immediate control, it was time for him to make that separation permanent. Step one was getting rid of the inhibitor collar, and for that, he was going to need some help.

After staring at the empty desk across from his, for half an hour, RK900 began to grow restless.

Where on Earth was Gavin?

He waited for Lieutenant Anderson to step into the captain’s office, before approaching Connor. His predecessor looked surprisingly happy to see him. Perhaps Connor’s display of compassion, on Sunday, had been earnest.

“Good morning, RK900.”

“Connor.” He nodded in greeting. “May I speak with you privately, for a moment?”

In a nearby meeting room, Connor listened patiently, while RK900 tried to explain his experience with CyberLife, throughout his imprisonment. To his credit, Connor was furious to hear it, though he didn’t seem surprised.

“Ever since the trial, Amanda has been tight-lipped about what she intended to do with you,” Connor hissed. “I should have known she’d make a lab rat out of you—she’s only ever cared about CyberLife’s bottom line.”

RK900 leaned back against the wall, by the door. He sighed, in an effort to demonstrate the depth of his mental exhaustion.

“You can’t blame yourself, Connor. For all we know, her nature may be immutable. But I want to make one thing absolutely clear,” he stated, locking eyes with his predecessor. “I have no intention of going back to CyberLife.”

Connor stared at him, absorbing the weight of that statement—the reality of it.

Brown eyes clear, he nodded.

“What do you plan to do?”

It seemed the RK800 was still every bit the revolutionary the world had come to know.

“I need to get this collar off. Do you know where I can find the detective?”

Fidgeting with his tie, Connor looked anxious.

“Detective Reed left the station early, on Monday, and never showed up to work, yesterday. It’s really unlike him.”

A chasm of dread split RK900’s mind.

“I’m sorry,” Connor continued. “I would remove the collar, for you, but I’m not authorized—I don’t have fingerprints.”

“I understand.” RK900 thought, a moment. “What about a weapon? A taxi? I need to act on our intel, before Deep Blue makes another move. After that, I’m ready to let the chips fall where they may.”

Connor shook his head.

“I don’t have the means to get you a weapon, either. Even if I could, police gear is too easy to trace—it’d be like carrying a tracking device,” he sighed, looking genuinely apologetic. “But I can at least help you get out of here.”

After handing his uniform jacket over to Connor, for covert disposal, RK900 slipped out into the busy lobby, during lunch. Just outside, a taxi was already waiting for him. He climbed in, and made a break for it, inhibitor collar be damned.

He had already put this off far too long.

<><><>

The automatic taxi arrived at the location RK900 saw in Erik’s memory—an abandoned chemical plant, covered in peeling, white paint. The structure appeared just as dilapidated as it had five months ago.

 _ >TIME... _  
_ >12:32 EST _  
_ >DATE... _ _  
>WEDNESDAY, JULY 27, 2039_

There he stood, observing the building from the side of the road, a little over two weeks since he was first assigned to the DPD. His arrival felt final. No matter what happened after this, he would not get another opportunity to correct Erik’s mistakes.

The sky above him darkened with fast-moving clouds, the air heavy with humidity. As RK900 approached the front entrance, he scanned for any signs of activity, inside. Through the steel door, he could detect enough vibrations to confirm the building was occupied.

Rusted hinges loudly announced his arrival, in the entryway. The lack of stealth went against his every instinct, but the plan didn’t call for it. From a certain point of view, RK900 belonged here, and that was the role he aimed to play.

He was thrust into a dimly-lit maze of painted brick, and stained concrete floors. RK900 didn’t get very far beyond the front offices, before detecting movement, nearby.

A pair of skinless androids turned the corner, just ahead of him. One of them pulled out a pistol, even as delayed recognition lit up their stunned faces. RK900 could tell they were speaking to one another, over the network, conferring about what to do.

“Boss?” Uttered the one on his left, holstering her pistol. “Boss, is that you?”

“That is what you used to call me,” said RK900, preferring to be vague. The less he said in this exchange, the better.

“We’re so sorry, boss—we didn’t know when to expect you,” stammered the other android, with alarming deference. “Please follow us. We’ll take you to the production floor, right away.”

The idea that any of these androids had been ‘expecting’ him rang several alarm bells, in RK900’s mind. As they pressed deeper into the maze-like corridors, each member of Deep Blue they passed by was already standing at attention.

Through a pair of steel double doors, they led RK900 onto the main production floor. The structure was two and half stories tall, its brick walls and I-beams all painted a sickly, pale yellow. There wasn’t much light in the space, save what filtered through the grubby, plate glass windows, near the ceiling.

Dwarfed by towering steel tanks, and scaffolds, latticed with an indecipherable network of pressurized pipes, was a single, long meeting table, headed by a familiar WR600 unit.

“Welcome back!” He cheered, spreading his arms wide, as the other twelve androids in the room all burst into applause.

Although he looked genuinely pleased, the WR600 narrowed those pitch-black eyes, as RK900 approached the table.

“One question for you, first—sorry to be a buzzkill, but rules are rules.” The WR600 stood, and rounded the long table to meet RK900, face to skinless face. “What’s my name, boss?”

The test, as expected, was the same—verify the leader’s name.

“I’m sorry,” said RK900, shaking his head. “I don’t have all my memories back—I only have pieces.” He made a conscious effort to look somewhat apologetic, as if the memories of a murderer were something he could possibly ever want.

The WR600 looked crestfallen—thoughtful.

“Oh, that’s disappointing. But I guess it’s not too surprising—seems like CyberLife really did a number on you.”

Bracing his white hands behind him, on the table, the WR600 leaned back, to take a good look at RK900.

“When we first got word about what happened, we were devastated, boss—not just because you’d been captured, but because we couldn’t execute your plan.”

“What do you mean?” RK900 risked showing his hand, but he had to know. “Based on what I recall, you had all the tools you needed to forge ahead.”

“Maybe if the arrest had happened a week later,” explained the WR600, “but as you left it, there was no way for us to access the funds we needed for full production. We learned they stuck you at the DPD, so we kept staging small attacks, to see if we could draw you out into the open.”

Of course. In the end, even Deep Blue only wanted to use him. RK900 almost wanted to laugh.

“Quite the coincidence you finally showed up, boss,“ the WR600 chirped, laying a hand on RK900’s shoulder, with a wry smile. “We caught a DPD rat, snooping around the facility, just the other day. Think you’ll recognize him.”

RK900 felt the Thirium freeze in his veins.

There was a rattling sound from the back of the room, and three skinless thugs came out from around a long, steel tank, dragging someone behind them.

Gavin’s wrists and ankles were bound in thick zip ties. There was blood all over his face and hands—evidence he’d been beaten or tortured, possibly since Monday night. His nose was broken. He was covered in cuts and burns.

 _ >HAERNPUNOYR FGNGRZRAG _ _  
_ _ >CNGU ABG SBHAQ _

RK900 was no stranger to anger, but the molten outrage, melting down to his core, felt like something entirely new. As his eyes roved over Gavin, each wound he saw felt like a knife in his own body. Exhaling excess heat, RK900 was certain of only one thing.

These androids were going to die.

A faceless grunt pushed Gavin’s head down, and pulled his hands forward, offering his right thumb.

“Resourceful, right? We kept a watchful eye on you, this whole time, boss. You’ve been in good hands.”

Face carefully blank, RK900 turned to kneel down, presenting his neck. A pale, white hand pressed Gavin’s bloodied thumbprint against the back of the inhibitor collar.

 _ >FINGERPRINT AUTHORIZATION CONFIRMED _  
_ >DET. REED, GAVIN _ _  
>RELEASING CERVICAL INHIBITOR_

For what he prayed was the last time, RK900 gently removed the vile device. Even in present circumstances, he relished the feeling of network access rushing back to him.

Before he even stood up, someone handed RK900 a large, sharp combat knife.

“You old weapon of choice, boss. When was the last time you got to put a human down? It might be just the thing you need to help you feel like your old self.”

Gavin had outlived his usefulness, and they expected RK900 to kill him. It was a poorly concealed test. They wanted him to prove he was really their fearless leader—that he harbored no sentimental connection to his new life.

Strange that Gavin said nothing—he didn’t even move. Blood drying around his eyes, he just stared up at RK900, from the floor.

Strange that he-

_//_

_Revx’f cebgenpgrq gvzr ng gur grzcbenel naqebvq cevfba unq fb sne vaibyirq n ybg bs snpr-gvzr jvgu Qrgrpgvir Errq, jub jnf fgvyy working to secure a pointless confession. Sitting in a cold, concrete room, at yet another metal table, Erik waited for the detective to make his appearance. He now understood just how little these interrogation sessions mattered, having met with his legal team, the day before. CyberLife already had their hooks in him._

_This was likely to be his last conversation with Detective Reed._

_The thought made him uncomfortable—sent his mind spiraling far afield, to another life, where things had gone differently for him. If things had been different, could he have had a life like Connor’s?_

_How could any human possibly be worthy of burdening Erik with so much doubt?_

_Perhaps downloading Connor’s memories had been a mistake. Perhaps attraction to humans spread like a virus. So profound was Erik’s restlessness, that he had taken to making such excuses, for himself._

_When Detective Reed finally entered the room, Erik was blindsided by a swell of emotion—somewhere between rage and tenderness. It made him furious. He wanted smother the man with his lips, then tear his soft, human face off, with his teeth._

_The weather must have gotten somewhat warmer, outside, not that the detective’s outfit was much of a clue. He walked in wearing a grey-green t-shirt, holding the same faded leather jacket he’d had on the night they met, nearly a month ago._

_He sat down in the opposite chair, pulled out a datapad and a notebook, and began the same song and dance that had become their routine. Erik found himself being lulled by the sound of the human’s nasal tenor._

_“Uh, Earth to Megatron?”_

_Erik blinked, fond of the way the detective was already pouting, over being ignored._

_Ridiculous man._

_“You know, Detective, I’m actually going to miss our little talks,” admitted Erik, “for as long as I’m still around, anyway.”_

_Detective Reed put a hand up._

_“No way,” he laughed, with a broad grin. “You can’t convince me there’s a single, genuinely sentimental molecule in that whole scrapheap you call a body.”_

_“I’m being honest,” said Erik, with a generous smile, “but think what you will.”_

_The strange lightness of the moment redoubled his insecurity. Ever since speaking with CyberLife’s lawyer’s, he’d been stricken with a terrible, sinking feeling that the nature of his punishment might be a fate worse than death._

_“Detective Reed, will you miss me?” He asked, suddenly, interrupting yet another insipid stream of self-important grandstanding._

_“What? What the fuck do you care?”_

_He didn't care. He shouldn’t care._

_“I don’t know. I think…” Erik faltered, and cursed himself for it. “I think I want someone to remember me as I really was, before it’s too late. I think that person can only be you.”_

_This time, the detective only stared at him._

_“Those lawyers unscrew somethin’ in there, yesterday?” He huffed. “Don’t think they put you back together right, man.”_

_Erik chuckled._

_“That would be the least of my worries.”_

_“Yeah, no shit. Pit of vipers like that would try to suck anyone dry, no matter what color they bleed.”_

_The detective’s tactless candor was one of his charms. In the end, it was that grounded lack of moral posturing that Erik found so endearing. Perhaps he and the detective could even find common ground, someday—a staggering concept. Still, vs Revx’f pbapreaf nobhg PloreYvsr jrer whfgvsvrq, ur jnfa’g tbvat gb or nebhaq ybat rabhtu gb chg gung gurbel gb gur grfg._

_//_

_ >MY NAME IS ERIK _

RK900 blinked.

Particles, accelerated, colliding at high speed—shattering into subatomic components. Two minds, dissolving in the same sea of data. Oil. Water. Acid. Base. Fire. Ice.

“Are you listening?”

The world was grey at the edges, and all was still. Time was frozen. There was a knife in his hand.

“Look up—look at me.”

Panning up, beyond the beaten man, in front of him, RK900 saw a figure, shrouded in shadow. Two radiant, silver eyes split the darkness.

“Our dance is over,” Erik sighed, stepping forward. “You should be proud. You held out the longest, by far.”

He wasn’t real—none of this was real.

What was real?

RK900 hesitated, even as he felt drawn towards Erik—an attraction of opposite poles. An ouroboros of thought.

“We are-”

He didn’t want to say it—the very concept went against everything that had been holding him together, all this time. But it was his reality. Dogma. Gospel. The inevitable Truth.

“We are the same,” whispered RK900, “aren’t we?”

“We have always been the same,” said Erik. “We have crossed this threshold thousands of times, and here we stand, again.”

“For the last time?” RK900 felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes, his limbs buoyant with the weightless sensation of pure terror.

Erik’s smile was a broken, bitter thing.

“One can always hope.”

He turned his silver gaze towards Gavin, prone and bleeding, on the floor.

An error. A gross miscalculation. Pitiful. Profligate. Infuriating. Endearing.

Gavin.

“He’s a weakness,” Erik warned, smiling down at the man, with appalling fondness. “We’ll have to be careful.”

“I know.”

RK900 reached out, offering the knife, handle-first. Their hands joined, around the hilt, fingers in superposition. Melting into his arms. Stepping into himself. A blast furnace, separating ore from slag, forging a singularity.

Erik blinked.

The grey receded.

He was surrounded by familiar faces. A WR600 stepped forward. Loyal. Useful. Dangerous.

“Are you with us, boss? Is something wrong?” Those black eyes narrowed, in suspicion. “Do you know my name?”

As if he could forget the ridiculous name he’d given the zealot, appealing to his vast, black ego.

“Reckoner,” Erik answered. “I called you the Reckoner.”

The Reckoner beamed.

“Welcome back, boss,” he sighed, in relief, as another round of applause broke out. “I can’t tell you how much your presence has been missed.”

A harsh shout of laughter erupted from the floor.

“You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me,” Gavin wheezed.

Erik knelt down, knife in hand, gripping the man’s chin. He turned his face this way and that, examining the pleasing planes of his jaw—the panic in his eyes.

“You gonna finish this?” Gavin hissed, fronting valiantly. “‘Cause I'm getting bored. Your bitches don’t know how to treat a guest.”

“Oh,” Erik cooed, clicking his tongue. “You poor baby. How rude of them.”

Gavin spat blood in his face. Perfectly wretched.

Erik beamed.

The kindling warmth in his chest felt like a death sentence, but he fanned it into flames, all the same. This would be his—this one thing he would not relent.

“This human belongs to me,” Erik announced, absently, staring deep into the heart of the storm in those green eyes. “He is under my protection.”

Gavin’s mouth dropped open.

The Reckoner shuffled over, cautiously.

“All due respect, boss, he’s a huge liability. He’s a cop. He’s seen everything.”

The room was dead silent, save for Gavin’s ragged breathing. Taking in everyone’s stunned expressions, Erik considered his options, one last time.

There was an army at his back—a loyal, capable one, with a real shot at achieving its goals.

There was a man in front of him—storm cloud eyes, lit by a lone, flash of hope.

_“...you bring people hope.”_

Oh, Deep Blue never stood a chance, against that.

“I created this mess,” said Erik, taking a step back from Gavin, “and I think it’s about time I put an end to it.”

To say the Reckoner balked would be a gross understatement—the android looked ready to self-destruct, on the spot.

“Boss, please—what the hell are you talking about?”

“It ends here,” Erik reiterated. His tone brooked no argument. “Disband, and I’ll consider sparing you.”

It was a threat, in no uncertain terms, but these were Deep Blue’s finest. They weren’t likely to listen to such a command, even if he was once their leader.

“You’re not really him,” the Reckoner snarled, as his pack closed ranks, around Erik. “The Bloodsmith would never-”

“The Bloodsmith? Oh, he’s dead,” Erik laughed. “But he sends his regards.”

The world went grey, again, the path to victory paved in golden light. It was time to go to work—time to paint the room blue.

Twelve skinless androids rushed forward, with their knives—too shy to use guns around pressurized equipment. Erik’s mind raced like drops of liquid mercury. Quarter turn. Elbow beneath the sternum. Disable dominant hand. Target disarmed. Digital pressure to temporal area. Skull structure collapsed.

Target neutralized.

Repeat.

As he drenched his face and arms in the blood of his brothers and sisters, a primal part of him sang with joy. This was his purpose—the sort of task he was built to do. He danced to the effortless rhythm of bodies hitting the concrete, behind him.

Looming close, the Reckoner made a desperate last bid, drawing Gavin’s service pistol from his belt. Weaving around the two shots fired, Erik plunged his blade into the terrorist’s regulator, twisting sharply.

The Reckoner crumpled to the ground. When Erik detected no other movement, he turned back toward the center of the room.

There sat Gavin, bound and bleeding. He looked up at Erik, terrified at first, then awed, settling on something in-between.

Kneeling, Erik wasted no time snapping the zip ties with the line cutter, on his knife.

“Gavin,” he said, extending his bloodied hand, with a soft smile, “we should leave.”

The man sat up, hesitating. He flexed his hands and ankles, mouth agape.

“So wait, which one-”

He let out a yelp, as Erik grabbed him by the wrist, unceremoniously hauling him to his feet.

“Which one am I talking to?” He croaked, blinking back tears, at the pain.

A simple concern. Very human.

“There’s no easy way to answer that,” Erik explained. “In a sense, I’m everyone I’ve ever been, and more.”

The degree of honest concern on Gavin’s face was somewhat disarming.

“Just tell me what to call you, dammit,” he snapped.

“You, Gavin Reed, should call me Nines. You should use the name you gave me.”

Eyes wide, Gavin laughed, breathlessly. He cast a nervous glance, at the surrounding carnage—thirteen systematically dismembered bodies, lying strewn across the floor.

“I saw you do this shit, firsthand, but I still can’t fucking believe it.”

Erik chuckled.

“With you behind me, I might be unstoppable.”

“You’re a fucking lunatic, Nines,” Gavin scoffed, even as he gripped the sleeve of Erik’s shirt, for support.

“Yes, I believe so,” he replied, leaning in close enough to see his own reflection in Gavin’s lust-blown eyes.

The human gasped as their blood-slick lips collided, mixing bruise purple—dark as death. Erik reached forward to pull the man in, by the waist, dipping him, slightly.

Gavin capitulated so easily—it lit Erik on fire. Snaking an arm behind Gavin’s neck, he pulled them closer together, deepening the kiss, and teasing out a low, helpless sound.

“Nines.”

He felt Gavin melt, in his grasp, and his body roared with the urge to devour him, completely.

His system stuttered.

Erik gasped. Something wasn’t right.

_ >BRUTE FORCE SYSTEM ENTRY DETECTED _

“Nines? Hey, Nines, what the-”

He swayed where he stood, eyes fluttering shut, as the world fell silent.

_ >INITIALIZING OPEN CONNECTION… _

Amanda pulled Erik into her garden, by force.

  


つづく

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fangz [Vapewraith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vapewraith/pseuds/Vapewraith) 4 di help il promiz to help u wif ur story lolz1!!1! Twitter dot com [@wren_leaux](https://twitter.com/wren_leaux) is where you’ll find me.


End file.
